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%xvit %W\m 



HISTORY AND BIOGRAPHY. 



NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE. 




BOSTON iXS^^;-. A5t^ -i^^- 
HOUGHTON, OSGOOD, AND COMPANY. 



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COPYRTGHT, 1850. 

By NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE. 

Copyright, 1878. 
By rose HAWTHORNE LATHROP. 



University Press: Welch, Bigelow. & Co., 
Cambridge. 




PEEFACE. 




N writing tliis ponderous tome, tlie author's de- 
sire has been to describe the eminent characters 
and remarkable events of our annals in sueli u 
form and style tliat the young may make acquahitance 
with them of their own accord. Tor this purpose, while 
ostensil)ly relating the adventures of a chair, he has en- 
deavored to keep a distinct and unbroken thread of au- 
thentic history. The chair is made to pass from one to 
another of those personages of whom lie thought it most 
desirable for the young reader to have vivid and familiar 
ideas, and whose lives and actions would best enable him 
to give picturesque sketches of the times. On its sturdy 
oaken legs it trudges diligently from one scene to another, 
and seems always to thrust itself in the way, with most 
benign complacency, whenever an historical personage 
happens to be looking round for a scat. 

There is certainly no method by which the shadowy 
outlines of departed men and women can be made to 
assume the hues of life more effectually than by connect- 
ing their images with the substantial and homely reality of 
a fireside chair. It causes us to feel at once that these 



VI PREFACE.- 

characters of liisforv had a private and familiar existence, 
and were not w holly contained within that cold array of ' 
oiitward action wliich we are compelled to receive as the 
adequate representation of their lives. If this impres- 
sion can be given, much is accomplished. 

Setting aside Grandfather and his auditors, and except- 
ing the adventures of the chair, wiiich form the machinery 
of the work, nothing in the ensuing pages can be termed 
fictitious. The author, it is true, has sometimes assumed 
the license of filling up the outline of history with details 
for which he has none but imaginative authority, but 
which, lie hopes, do not violate nor give a false coloring 
to the truth. He believes that, in this respect, his nar- 
rative will not be found to convey ideas and impressions 
of which the reader may hereafter find it necessary to 
purge his mind. 

The author's gl•ea<^ doubt is, jvhether he has succeeded 
in writing a book which will be readable by the class for 
whom lie intends it. To make a lively and entertaining 
narrative for children, with such uiimalleable material as 
is presented by the sombre, stern, and rigid characteris- 
tics of the Puritans and tlirir descendants, is qiiite as 
difficult an attempt as to manufacture delicate playthings 
out of the granite rocks on which New England is 
founded. 




THE WHOLE HISTORY 



GRANDFATHEE'S CIIAIE, 



COMPLETE IN THREE PARTS. 



-ir 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 



PART I. 



CHAPTEE I. 




EANDFATHER had been sitting iii liis old 
arm-cliaiu all that pleasant afternoon, while the 
cliildren were pursuing their various sports far 
olf or near at hand. Sometimes you would have said, 
" Grandfatlier is asleep " ; but still, even when his eyes 
were closed, his thouglits were with the young people, 
playing among the flowers and shrubbery of the garden. 

He heard the voice of Laurence, who had taken pos- 
session of a heap of decayed brandies Avhich the gar- 
dener had lopped from the fruit trees, and was building 
a little hut for his cousin Clara and iiimself. He heard 
Clara's gladsome voice, too, as she weeded and watered 
the flower-bed which had been given her for her own. 
He could have counted every footstcj. that Charley took, 
as he trundled his wheelbarrow'along the gravel-walk. 
And though Grandfather was old and 'gray-haired, yet 
his heart leaped with joy whenever little Alice came 
fluttering, like a butterfly, into the room. She had made 
each of the children her playmate in turn, aiitl now made 
1* 



10 GrvAXDFATHER'S CHAIR. 

Graiidfatlier her playmate too, and tLouglit liim the mer- 
riest of them all. 

At last the children grew weary of their sports; 
because a summer afternoon is like a long lifetime to 
the young. So they came into the room together, and 
clustered round Grandfather's great chair. Little Alice, 
who was hardly live years old, took the privilege of the 
youngest, and climbed his knee. It was a pleasant thing 
to behold that fair and golden-haired child in the laj) 
of the old man, and to think that, diilerent as they were, 
the hearts of both could be gladdened with the same 

" Grandfather," said little Alice, laying her head back 
upon his arm, " I am very tired now. You must tell 
me a story to make me go to sleep." 

"That is not what story-tellers like," answered Grand- 
father, smiling. "They are better satisfied when they 
can keep their auditors awake." 

" But here are Laurence, and Charley, and I," cried 
cousin Clara, who was twice as old as little Alice. " AVe 
will all three keep wide awake. And pray. Grandfather, 
tell us a story about this strange-looking old chair," 

Now, the chair in which Grandfather sat was made of 
oak, which had grown dark Avith age, but had been 
rubbed and polished till it shone as bright as mahogany. 
It was very large and heavy, and iiad a back that rose 
high above Grandfather's white head. This back was 
curiously carved in open work, so as to represent flow- 
ers, and foliage, and other devices, which the children 
had often gazed at, but could never understand what 
they meant. Ou the very tip-top of the chair, over the 
head of Grandfather himself, was a likeness of a lion's 
head, which had such a savage grin that you would 
almost expect to hear it growl and snarl. 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 11 

The cliiklren liad seen Graudfiitlier sitting in tliis cliair 
ever since they could remember anytlii"iig. Perhaps the 
younger of them supposed that he and the cliair had 
come into the world together, and that both had always 
been as old as they were now. At this time, however, it 
happened to be the fashion for ladies to adorn their 
drawing-rooms witli the oldest and oddest chairs that 
could be found. It seemed to cousin Clara that, if these 
ladies conld have seen Grandfather's old chair, they 
would have thought it worth all the rest together. She 
wondered if it were not even older than Grandfather 
himself, and longed to know all about its history. 

"Do, Grandfather, talk to us about this chair," she 
repeated. 

" Well, child," said Grandfather, patting Clara's 
cheek, "I can tell you a great many stories of my 
chair. Perhaps your cousin Laurence would like to 
hear them too. They would teach him something about 
the history and distinguished people of his country which 
he has never read in any of his school-books." 

Cousin Laurence was a boy of twelve, a bright scholar, 
in whom an early thonghtfulness and sensibility began to 
show themselves. His young fancy kindled at the idea 
of knowing all the adventures of this venerable chair. 
He looked eagerly in Grandfather's face ; and even 
Charley, a bold, brisk, restless little fellow of nine, sat 
himself down on the carpet, and resolved to be quiet for 
at least ten minutes, should the story last so long. 

Meantime, little x\lice was already asleep ; so Grand- 
father, being much pleased with such an attentive audi- 
ence, began to talk about matters that happened long 
asyo. 



CHAPTER II 




UT before relating the adventures of the chair, 
Grandfather found it necessary to speak of the 
circumstances that caused the first settlement of 
New England. For it -will soon be perceived that the 
story of this remarkable chair cannot be told without tell- 
ing a great deal of the history of the country. 

So Grandfather talked about the Puritans, as tliose 
persons were called who thought it sinful to practise the 
religious forms and ceremonies wiiicli the Church of Eng- 
land had borrowed from the Homan Catholics, These 
Puritans sutrerod so much persecution in England, that, 
in 1007, many of them went over to Holland, and lived 
ten or twelve years at Amsterdam and Leyden. But 
they feared that, if they continued there much longer, 
they should cease to be English, and should adopt all the 
manners, and ideas, and feelings of the Dutch. Eor this 
and otiier reasons, in the year 1020 they embarked on 
board of the ship Mayflower, and crossed the ocean to 
the shores of Cape Cod. Tliere they made a settlement, 
and called it Plymouth, which, though now a part of 
Massachusetts, was for a long time a colony ])y itself. 
And thus was formed the earliest settlement of the Puri- 
tans in America. 

Meantime, those of the Puritans who remained in Eng- 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 13 

land contiimed to suffer grievous persecution on account 
of their religious opinions.- They began to look around 
them for some spot where they might worship God, not 
as the king and bishops thought fit, but according to the 
dictates of their own consciences. When their brethren 
had gone from Holland to America, they betliought them- 
selves that tliey likewise might find refuge from persecu- 
tion ther«. Several gentlemen among them purchased a 
tract of country on the coast of Massachusetts Bay, and 
obtained a charter from King Charles, which authorized 
them to make laws for the settlers. In the year 1G28 
they sent over a few people, with John Endicott at their 
head, to commence a plantation at Salem. Peter Palfrey, 
lloger Conant, and one or two more had built houses 
there in 162G, and may be considered as the first settlers 
of that ancient town. Many other Puritans prepared to 
follow Endicott. ^ 

"And now we come to the cliair, my dear children," 
said Grandfather. " This chair is supposed to have been 
made of an oak-tree which grew in the park of the Eng- 
lish Earl of Lincoln between two and three centuries 
ago. In its younger days it used, probably, to stand in 
the hall of the earl's castle. Do not you see the coat of 
arms of the family of Lincoln carved in the open work 
of the back ? But when his daughter, the Lady Ar- 
bella, was married to a certain Mr. Johnson, the earl 
gave her this valuable chair." 

" Who was Mr. Johnson ? " inquired Clara. 

" He was a gentleman of great wealth, who agreed 
with the Puritans in their religious opinions," answered 
Grandfather. " And as his belief was the same as theirs, 
he resolved that he would live and die with them. Ac- 
cordingly, in the mouth of April, 1630, he left his pleas- 
ant abode and all his comforts iu England^ and embarked. 



14 GRAND FATHEIl'S CHAIR. 

with Lady Arbclla, ou board of a ship bound for Amer- 
ica." 

As Grandfather was frequently impeded by the ques- 
tions and observations of his young auditors, we deem it 
advisable to omit all such prattle as is not essential to the 
story. We have taken some pains to find out exactly 
what Grandfather said, and here offer to our readers, as 
nearly as possible in his own words, the story of 

THE LADY ARBELLA. 

The ship in which Mr. Johnson and his lady embarked, 
taking Grandfather's chair along with them, was called 
the Arbella, in honor of the lady herself. A fleet of ten 
or twelve vessels, with many hundred passengers, left 
England about the same time ; for a multitude of people, 
who were discontented with the king's government and 
oppressed by the bisliops, were flocking over to the New 
"World. One of the vessels hi the fleet was that same 
Mayflower which had carried the Puritan Pilgrims to 
Plymouth. And now, my cliildren, I would have you 
fancy yourselves in the cabin of the good ship Arbella ; 
because, if you could behold the passengers aboard that 
vessel, you would feel what, a blessing and honor it was 
for New England to have such settlers. They were the 
best men and women of their da^^ 

Among the passengers was John "Winlhrop, who had 
sold the estate of his forefathers, and was going to pre- 
pare a new home for his wife and children in the wilder- 
ness. He had the king's charter in his keeping, and was 
ai)pointed the first governor of Massachusetts. Imagine 
him a person of grave and benevolent aspect, dressed in 
a black velvet suit, with a broad ruff around his neck, 
and a peaked beard upon his chin. There was likewise a 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 15 

minister of the gospel whom the English bishops had for- 
bidden to preach, but who knew that he should have 
liberty botli to preach and pray in the forests of America. 
He wore a black cloak, called a Geneva cloak, and had a 
black velvet cap, fitting close to his head, as was the 
fashion of almost all the Puritan clergymen. In their 
company came Sir Richard Saltoustall, who had been one 
of the five first projectors of the new colony. He soon 
returned to his native country. But his descendants still 
remain in New England ; aud the good old family name 
is as much respected in our days as it was in those of 
Sir Richard. 

Not only these, but several otlier men of wealth and 
pious ministers were in the cabin of the Arbella. One 
had banislied himself forever from the old hall where his 
ancestors had lived for hundreds of years. Another had 
left his quiet parsonage, in a country town of England. 
Others had come from the Universities of Oxford or 
Cambridge, where they had gained great fame for their 
learning. And here they all were, tossing upon the un- 
certain and dangerous sea, and bound for a home that 
was more dangerous than even the sea itself. In the 
cabin, likewise, sat the Lady Arbella in her chair, with a 
gentle and sweet expression on her face, but looking too 
pale and feeble to endure the hardships of tlie wilderness. 

Every morning and evening the Lady Arbella gave up 
lier great chair to one of the ministers, who took his place 
in it aud read passages from the Bible to his companions. 
And thus, with prayers, and pious conversation, and fre- 
quent siughig of hymns, which the breezes caught from 
their lips and scattered far over the desolate waves, they 
prosecuted their voyage, and sailed into the harbor of 
Salem in the month of June. 

At that period there were but six or eight dwellings in 



16 GrvANDFATIIEU'S CHAIR. 

the town ; and these were miserable hovels, wilh roofs of 
straw and wooden chimneys. Tlie passengers in the fleet 
either built huts with bark and branches of trees, or 
erected tents of cloth till they could provide themselves 
with better shelter. Many of them went to form a set- 
tlement at Cliarlestown. It was thought fit that tha 
Lady Arbella should tarry in Salem for a time : she Avas 
probably received as a guest into the family of John 
Eiidicott. He Avas tlie chief person in the plantation, 
and had the only comfortable house Avhich the new- 
comers had beheld since they left England,- So now, 
children, you must imagine Grandfather's chair in the 
midst of a new scene. 

Suppose it a hot summer's day, and the lattice-win- 
dows of a chamber in Mr. Endicott's house thrown Avide 
open. The Lady Arbella, looking paler than she did on 
shipboard, is sitting in her chair and thinking mourn- 
fully of far-off England. She rises and goes to the win- 
dow. There, amid patches of garden ground and corn- 
field, she sees the few wretched hovels of the settlers, 
with the still ruder wigwams and cloth tents of the pas- 
sengers who had arrived in the same fleet with herself. 
Ear and near stretches the dismal forest of pine-trees, 
Avhich throw their black shadows over the whole laud, 
and likewise over the heart of this poor lady. 

All the inhabitants of the little village are busy. One 
is clearing a spot on the verge of the forest for his home- 
stead ; another is hewing the trunk of a fallen pine-tree, 
in order to build himself a dwelling ; a third is hoeing 
in his field of Lidian corn. Here comes a huntsman 
out of the woods, dragging a bear which he has shot, 
and shouting to the neighbors to lend him a hand. There 
goes a man to the sea-shore, with a spade and a bucket, 
to dig a mess of clams, which were a principal article 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 17 

of food wifli the first settlers. Scattered here and 
there are two or three dusky figures, clad in mantles 
of fur, with ornaments of bone hanging from their ears, 
and the feathers of wild birds in their coal-black hair. 
They have belts of shell-work slung across their slioul- 
ders, and are armed with bows and arrows and flint- 
headed spears. These are an Indian sagamore and his 
attendants, who have come to gaze at the labors of tlie 
white men. And now rises a cry that a pack of wolves 
have seized a young calf in the pasture ; and every 
man snatches up his gun or pike and runs in chase of 
the marauding beasts. 

Poor Lady Arbella watches all these siglits, and feels 
tliat this New World is fit only for rough and hardy peo- 
ple. None should be here but those who can struggle 
with wild beasts and wild men, and can toil in the heat 
or cold, and can keep their hearts firm against all diffi- 
culties and dangers. But she is not one of these. Her 
gentle and timid spirit sinks within her; and, turning 
away from the Avindow, she sits down in the great chair 
and wonders whereabouts hi the wilderness her friends, 
will dig her grave. 

Mr. Johnson had gone, with Governor Winthrop and 
most of the other passengers, to Boston, where he in- 
tended to build a house for Lady Arbella and himself. 
Boston was then covered with wild woods, and had fewer 
inhabitants, even, than Salem. During her husband's 
absence, poor Lady Arbella felt herself growing ill, and 
was hardly able to stir from the great chair. Whenever 
John Endicott noticed her despondency, he doubtless ad- 
dressed her with words of comfort. " Cheer up, my 
good lady ! " he would say. " In a little time, you will 
love this rude life of the wilderness as I do." But En- 
dicott's heart was as bold and resolute as iron, and he 



18 grandfather's chair. 

could not understand wliy a woman's heart sliould not 
be of iron too. 

Still, however, he spoke kindly to the lady, and tlien 
hastened forth to till his cornfield and set out fruit-trees, 
or to bargain with the Indians for furs, or perchance to 
oversee tlie building of a fort. Also, being a magistrate, 
he had often to punish some idler or evil doer, by order- 
ing him to be set in the stocks or scourged at the whip- 
))ing-post. Often, too, as was the custom of the times, 
ho and Mr. Higginson, the minister of Salem, held long 
religious talks together. Thus John Endicott was a man 
of multifarious business, and had no time to look back 
regretfully to his native land. He felt himself fit for the 
New World and for the work" that he had to do, and set 
himself resolutely to aceomidish it. 

What a contrast, my dear children, between this bold, 
rough, active man, and the gentle Lady Arbella, who 
was fading away, l.ke a pale English flower, in the 
shadow of the forest! And now the great chair was 
often empty, because Lady Arbella grew too weak to 
arise from bed. 

Meantime, her husband had pitched upon a spot for 
their new iiome. He returned from Boston to Salem, 
travelling through the woods on foot, and leaning on his 
pilgrim's staff. His heart yearned within him ; for he 
was eager to tell his wife of the new home which he had 
chosen. But when he beheld her pale and hollow check, 
and found how her strength was wasted, he must have 
known that her appointed home was in a better land. 
Haj)py for him then — happy both for him and her — if 
they remembered that there was a path to heaven, as 
well from this heathen wilderness as from the Christian 
land whence they had come. And so, in one short month 
from her arrival, the gentle Lady Arbella faded away and 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 19 

died. Tliey dug a grave for lier in tlie new soil, where 
the roots of the pine-trees impeded their spades ; and 
when her bones had rested there nearly two hundred 
years, and a city had sprung np around them, a church 
of stone was built upon the spot. 

Charley, almost at the commencement of the foregoing 
narrative, had galloped away, with a prodigious clatter, 
upon Grandfather's stick, and was not yet returned. So 
large a boy should have been ashamed to ride upon a 
stick. But Laurence and Ckira had listened attentively, 
and were affected by this true story of the gentle lady 
who had come so far to die so soon. Grandfather had 
supposed tiiat little Alice was asleep ; but towards the 
close of the story, happening to look down ui)on her, he 
saw that her blue eyes were wide open, and fixed ear- 
nestly upon his face. The tears had gathered in them, 
like dew upon a delicate flower ; but when Grandfather 
ceased to speak, the sunshine of her smile broke forth 
again. 

"O, the lady must have been so glad to get to 
heaven ! " exclaimed little Alice. 

"Grandfather, what became of Mr. Johnson?" asked 
Clara. 

" His heart appears to have been quite broken," an- 
swered Grandfather; "for he died at Boston within a 
month after the death of his wife. He was buried in the 
very same tract of ground where he had intended to build 
a dwelling for Lady Arbella and himself. Where their 
house would have stood, there was his grave." 

" I never heard anything so melancholy," said Clara. 

" The people loved and respected Mr. Johnson so 
much," continued Grandfather, "that it was the last re- 
quest of many of them, when they died, that they might 



20 GEANDFATIIER'S CHAIR.^ 

be buried as near as possible to iliis good man's grave: 
And so the field bocaine the first burial-ground in Boston. 
When you pass through Tremont Street, along by King's 
Chapel, you see a burial-ground, contaiuiiig many old 
grave-stones and monuments. That was Mr. Johnson's 
field." 

"How sad is the thought," observed Clara, "that one 
of the first things which the settlers had to do, when 
they came to the New World, was to set apart a burial- 
ground ! " 

" Perhaps," said Laurence, " if they had found no need 
of burial-grounds here, they would have been glad, after 
a few years, to go back to England." 

Grandfather looked at Laurence, to discover whether 
he knew how profound and true a thing he had said. 




CHAPTER III. 




1 



OT long after Grandfather had told the story of 
Ills great chair, tiiere chanced to be a rainy day. 
Our friend Charley, after disturbing the house- 
hold Willi beat of drum and riotous shouts, races up and 
down the staircase, overturning of chairs, and much 
other, uproar, began to feel the quiet and confinement 
within doors intolerable. But as the rain came down in 
a flood, the little fellow was hopelessly a prisoner, and 
now stood with sullen aspect at a window, wondering 
whether the sun itself were not extinguished by so much 
moisture in the sky. 

Charley had already exhausted the less eager activity 
of the other cliildren ; and tliey liad betaken themselves 
to occupations that did not admit of his companionship. 
Laurence sat in a recess near the bookcase, reading, 
not foi^ the first time, the Midsummer Night's Dream. 
Clara was making a rosary of beads for a little figure of 
a Sister of Charity, wlio was to attend the Bunker Hill 
fair and lend her aid in erecting the Monument. Lit- 
tle xVlice sat on Grandfather's footstool, with a picturc- 
l)ook in her hand ; and, for, every picture, the child was 
telling Grandfatlier a story. She did not read from the 
book (for little Alice had not much skill in reading), but 
told the story out of her own heart and mind. 



22 GllANDFATlIER'S CHAIR. 

Charley was too big a boy, of course, to care anytliing 
about little Alice's stories, although Grandfather ap- 
peared to listen with a good deal of interest. Often, ju 
a young child's ideas and fancies, there is something 
which it requires the thought of a lifetime to comprehend. 
But Charley was of opinion that, if a story must be told, 
it had better be told by Grandfather than little Alice. 

" Grandfather, 1 want to hear more about your chair," 
said he. 

Now, Grandfather remembered that Charley had gal- 
loped away uj)on a stick in the midst of the narrative of 
poor Lady Arbella, and I know not Avhetlier he would 
have thought it worth while to tell another story merely 
to gratify such an inattentive auditor as Charley. But 
Laurence laid down his book and seconded the request, 
Clara drew her chair nearer to Grandfather; and little 
Alice immediately closed her picture-book and looked up 
into his face. Grandfather had not the heart to disap- 
point them. 

He mentioned several persons who bad a share in the 
settlement of our country, and who would be well worthy 
of remembrance, if we could find room to tell about them 
all. Among the rest. Grandfather spoke of the famous 
Hugh Peters, a minister of the gospel, who did much 
good to the inhabitants of Salem. Mr. Peters afterwards 
WTut back to England, and was chaplain to Oliver Crom- 
Avell ; but Grandfather did not tell the children wbat be- 
came of this upright and zealous man at last. In fact, 
iiis auditors were growing impatient to hear more about 
the history of the chair. 

"xVfter the death of Mr. Johnson," said he, "Grand- 
father's chair came into the possession of Bogcr Wil- 
liams. He was a clergyman, who arrived at Salem, and 
settled there in 1G31. Doubtless the good man has spent 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 23 

many a studious liour in this old cliair, either penning a 
sermon or reading some abstruse book of theolog}^ till 
midnight came upon him unawares. At that period, as 
tliere were few lamps or candles to be had, people used 
to read or work by the light of pitch-pine torches. These 
supplied the place of the ' midnight oil ' to the learned 
men of New England." 

Grandfather went on to talk about Roger Williams, 
and told the cliildren several particulars, which we have 
not room to repeat. One incident, however, which was 
connected with his life, must be related, because it will 
give the reader an idea of the opinions and feelings of 
the first settlers of New England. It was as follows : — 

THE RED CROSS. 

While Roger Williams sat in Grandfather's chair at his 
Ijumble residence in Salem, John Endicott would often 
come to visit him. As the clergy had great influence in 
temporal concerns, the minister and magistrate would 
talk over the occurrences of the day, and consult how 
the people might be governed according to scriptural 
laws. 

One thing especially troubled them both. In tlie old 
national banner of England, under which her soldiers 
have fought for hundreds of years, there is a red cross, 
which has been there ever since the days when England 
was in subjection to the pope. The cross, tliough a iioly 
symbol, was abhorred by the Puritans, because they con- 
sidered it a relic of Popish idolatry. Now, whenever the 
trainband of Salem was mustered, the soldiers, with En- 
dicott at their head, had no other flag to march under 
than this same old Papistical banner of England, Avith 
the red cross in the midst of it. The banner of tlie red 



24 GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 

cross, llke-^-ise, ■was flying on the walls of tlie fort of 
Salem ; and a similar one was displayed in Boston liar- 
Lor, from the fortress on Castle Island. 

" I profess, Brother AVilliams," Captain Endicolt would 
say, after they had been talking of this matter, "it dis- 
tresses- a Christian' man's heart to see this idolatrous 
cross flying over our heads. A stranger, beholdhig it, 
w'ould think that we had undergone all our hardshi])s 
and dangers, by sea and in the wilderness, only to get 
new dominions for the Pope of Rome." 

"Truly, good Mr. Endicott," Roger Williams would 
answer, "you speak as an honest man and Protestant 
Christian should. For mine own part, were it my busi- 
ness to draw a sword, I should reckon it sinful to fight 
under such a banner. Neither can I, in my pulpit, ask 
the blessing of Heaven upon it." 

Such, probably, was the way in which Roger Williams 
and John Endicott used to talk about the banner of thS 
red cross. Endicott, who was a prompt and resolute 
man, soon determined that Massachusetts, if she could 
not have a banner of her own, should at least be deliv- 
ered from that of the Pope of Rome. 

Not long afterwards there was a military muster at 
Salem. Every able-bodied man in the town and neigh- 
])orhood was there. All were well armed, with steel caps 
upon their heads, plates of iron upon their breasts and at 
their l)acks, and gorgets of steel around their necks. 
When the sun shone upou these ranks of iron-clad men, 
they flashed and blazed with a splendor that bedazzled 
the wild Indians who had come out of the woods to gaze 
at them. The soldiers had long pikes, swords, and mus- 
kets, which were fired with matches, and were almost as 
heavy as a small cannon. 

These men had mostly a stern and rigid aspect. To 



GUANDFATHER^S CHAIR. ' 25 

judge by their looks, you might have supposed that there 
was as much iron in their hearts as there was upou their 
heads and breasts. They were all devoted Puritans, and 
of the same temper as those with whom Ohver Cromwell 
afterwards overthrew the throne of England. They 
hated all the relics of Popish superstition as much as 
Endicott himself; and yet over their heads was displayed 
the banner of the "red cross. 

Endicott was the captain of the company. While the 
soldiers were expecting his orders to begin their exercise, 
they saw him take the banner in one hand, holding his 
drawn sword in the other. Probably he addressed them 
in a speech, and explained how horrible a thing it was, 
that men, who had fled from Popish idolatry into the 
wilderness, should be compelled to fight under its sym- 
bols here. Perhaps he concluded his address somewhat 
in the following style : — 

" And now, fellow-soldiers, you see this old banner of 
England. Some of you, I doubt not, may think it trea- 
son for a man to lay violent hands upon it. But whether 
or no it be treason to man, I have good assurance in my 
conscience that it is no treason to God. Wherefore, I 
have resolved that we will rather be God's soldiers than 
soldiers of the Pope of Rome ; and in that mind I now 
cut the Papal cross out of this banner." 

And so he did. And thus, in a province belonging to 
th3 crown of England, a captain was found bold enough 
to deface the king's banner with his sword. 

When Winthrop and the other wise men of Massachu- 
setts heard of it they were disquieted, being afraid that 
Endicott's act would bring great trouble upon himself 
and them. An account of the matter was carried to 
King Charles ; but he was then so much engrossed by 
dissensions with his people that he had no leisure to 
2 



26 GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 

punish the offender. In other times, it might have cost 
Eudicott his life, and Massachusetts her charter. 

" I shoukl Uke to know, Grandfather," said Laurence, 
when the story was ended, " whether, when Endicott cut 
the red cross out of the banner, be meant to imply that 
Massachusetts was independent of England ? " 

"A sense of the independence of bis adopted country 
must have been in that bold man's heart," answered 
Grandi'atber ; " but I doubt whether he had given the 
matter much consideration except in its religious bear- 
ing. However, it was a very remarkable affair, and a 
very strong expression of Puritan character." 

Grandfather proceeded to speak further of Roger Wil- 
liams and of olher persons wlio sat in the great chair, as 
will be seen in the following chapter. 




CHAPTER lY. 




PGER WILLIAMS," said Grandfatlier, "did 
not keep possession of the chair a great wliile. 
His opinions of civil and religious matters dif- 
fered, in many respects, from those of the rulers and 
clergymen of Massachusetts. Now, the wise men of 
those days balieved that the country could not be safe 
unless all the inhabitants thought and felt alike." 

" Does any body believe so in our days, Grandfather ? " 
asked Laureuce. 

" Possibly there are some who believe it," said Grand- 
father ; " but they have not so much power to act upon 
their belief as the magistrates and ministers had in the 
days of Rog3r Williams. Tliey had the power to deprive 
this good man of his home, and to send him out from the 
midst of thsm in search of a new place of rest. He was 
banished in 1G3I, and went first to Plymouth colony ; but 
as the people there held the same opinions as those of 
Massachusetts, he was not suffered to remain among 
them. However, the wilderness was wide enough; so 
lloger Williams took his staff and travelled into the for- 
est and made treaties with the Indians, and began a 
plantation which he called Providence." 

" I have been to Providence on the railroad," said 
Charley. " It is but a two-hours' ride." 



28 GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 

"Yes, Charley," replied Grandfather; "but when 
Roger Williams travelled thither, over hills and valleys, 
and through the tangled woods, and across swamps and 
streams, it was a journey of several days. Well, his little 
plantation is now grown to be a populous city ; and the 
iuliabitants have a great veneration for Roger Williams. 
His name is familiar in the mouths of all, because thoy 
see it on their bank-bills. How it would have pcrj)lexed 
this good clergyman if he had been told that he should 
give his name to the Roger Williams Bank ! " 

"When he was driven from Massachusetts," said Lau- 
rence, "and began his journey into the woods, he must 
have felt as if he were burying himself forever from the 
sight and knowledge of men. Yet the whole country has 
now heard of him, and will remember him forever." 

"Yes," answered Grandfather; " it often happens that 
the outcasts of one generation are those who are rever- 
enced as the wisest and best of men by the next. The se- 
curest fame is that which comes after a man's death. But 
let us return to our story. When Roger Williams was 
banished, he appears to have given the chair to Mrs. 
Anne Hutchinson. At all events, it w\as in her posses- 
sion in 1637. She was a very sharp-witted and well-in- 
structed lady, and was so conscious of her own wisdom 
and abilities that she thought it a pity that the world 
should not have the benefit of them. She therefore used 
to hold lectures in Boston once or twice a week, at Avliich 
most of tlie women attended. Mrs. Hutchinson presided 
at these meetings, sitting with great state and dignity in 
Grandfather's chair." 

" Grandfather, was it positively this A'ory chair ? " de- 
manded Clara, laying her hand upon its carved elbow. 

" Why not, my dear Clara ? " said Grandfather. 
" Well, Mrs. Hutchinson's lectures soon caused a great 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 29 

disturbance ; for the ministers of Boston did not think it 
safe and proper that a woman should publicly instruct 
the people in religious doctrines. Moreover, she made 
the matter worse by declaring that the Rev. Mr. Cotton 
was the only sincerely pious and holy clergyman in New 
England. Now, the clergy of those days had quite as 
much share in the government of tlje country, though 
indirectly, as the magistrates themselves ; so you may 
imagine what a host of powerful enemies were raised up 
against Mrs. Hutchinson. A synod was convened ; tluit 
is to say, an assemblage of all the ministers in Massacliu- 
setts. They declared that tliere were eighty-two errone- 
ous opinions on religious subjects ditt'used among the 
people, and that Mrs. Hutchinson's opinions were of the 
number." 

" If they had eighty-two wrong opinions," observed 
Charley, " I don't see how they could have any right 
ones." 

" Mrs. Hutchinson had many zealous friends and con- 
verts," continued Grandfather. " She was favored by 
young Henry Vane, wlio had come over from England a 
year or two before, and liad shice been cliosen governor 
of tlie colony, at the age of twenty-four. But Winlhrop 
and most of the other leading men, as well as the minis- 
ters, felt an abhorrence of her doctrines. Thus two 
opposite parties were formed ; and so fierce were the dis- 
sensions that it was feared the consequence would be 
civil war and bloodshed. But Wmthrop and the minis- 
ters being the most powerful, they disarmed and impris- 
oned Mrs. Hutchinson's adherents. She, like Roger 
Williams, was banished." 

"Dear Grandfather, did they drive the poor woman 
into the woods F " exclaimed little Alice, who contrived 
to feel a human interest even in these discords of polemic 
divinity. 



30 GRAXDFATHEIl'S CHAIR. 

"Tliey did, my darling," replied Grandfather; "and 
the end of her hfe was so sad you must not hear it. At 
her departure, it appears, from the best authorities, that 
she gave the great cliair to her friend Henry Yane. He 
was a young man of wonderful talents and great learning, 
who had imbibed the religious 0])inions of the Puritans, 
and left England witii the intention of spending his life 
in Massachusetts. The people chose him governor ; but 
the controversy about Mrs. Hutchinson, and other troub- 
les, caused him to leave the country in 1637. You 
may read the subsequent events of his life in the History 
of England." 

" Yes, Grandfather," cried Laurence ; " and we may 
read them better in Mr. Upham's Biogrypliy of Yane. 
And what a beautiful death he died, long afterwards ! 
beautiful, though it was on a scafibld." 

" Many of the most beautiful deaths have been there," 
said Gi-andfather. " The enemies of a great and good 
man can in no other way make him so glorious as by 
giving him the crown of martyrdom." 

In order that the children might fully understand the 
all -important history of the chair, Grandfather now 
thought fit to speak of the progress that was made in 
settling several colonies. The settlement of Plymouth, 
in 1020, has already been mentioned. In 1635 Mr. 
Hooker and Mr. Stone, two ministers, went on foot 
from Massachusetts to Connecticut, through the pathless 
woods, taking their whole congregation along with them. 
They founded the town of Hartford. In 1638 Mr. Dav- 
enport, a very celebrated minister, went, with other peo- 
ple, and began a plantation at New Haven, In the same 
year, some persons who had been persecuted in Massa- 
chusetts went to the Isle of Rhodes, since called Ilhode 
Island, and settled there. About this time, also, many 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 31 

settlers had gone to Maine, and were living without any 
regular government. There were likewise settlers near 
Piscataqua River, in the region which is now called New 
Hampshire. 

Tims, at various points along the coast of New Eng- 
land, there were communities of Englishmen. Though 
these communities were hidcpendent of one another, yet 
they had a common dependence upon England ; and, at 
so vast a distance from their native liome, the inhabitants 
must all have felt like brethren. Tiiey were fitted to 
become one united people at a future period. Perhaps 
tlieir feelings of brotherhood were the stronger because 
dilferent nations had formed settlements to the north and 
to the south. In Canada and Nova Scotia were colonies 
of Erench. On the banks of the Hudson River was a 
colony of D-utch, who had taken possession of that region 
many years before, and called it New NetJierlands. 

Grandfather, for aught I know, might have gone on to 
speak of Maryland and Virginia; for the good old gentle- 
man really seemed to suppose that the whole surface of 
the United States was not too broad a foundation to place 
the four legs of his chair upon. But, happening to glance 
at Charley, he perceived that this naughty boy was grow- 
ing impatient and meditating another ride upon a stick. 
So here, for the present, Grandfather suspended the his- 
tory of his chair. 



CHAPTER V. 




HE children had now learned to look upon ihe 
chair with an interest which was almost the 
same as if it were a conscious being, and could 
remember the many famous people whom it had held 
within its arms. 

Even Charley, lawless as lie was, seemed to feel tliat 
this venerable chair must not be clamljered upon nor over- 
turned, althongli he had no scruple in taking such liber- 
ties with every other chair in the house. Clara treated 
it with still greater reverence, often taking occasion to 
smooth its cushion, and to brush the dust from the 
carved flowers and grotesque figures of its oaken back 
and arms. Laurence would sometimes sit a whole hour, 
especially at twilight, gazing at the chair, and, by the 
spell of his imaginations, summoning up its ancient occu- 
pants to appear in it again. 

Little Alice evidently employed herself in a similar 
way ; for once when Grandfather had gone abroad, the 
child was heard talking M^ith the gentle Lady Arbella, as 
if she were still sitting in the chair. So sweet a child as 
little Alice may fitly talk with angels, such as the Lady 
Arbella had long since become. 

Grandfather was soon importuned for more stories 
about the chair. He had no difficulty in relating them ; 
for it really seemed as if every person noted in our early 



GE-ANDFATHER'S CHAIH. 33 

history liad, on some occasion or other, found repose 
within its comfortable arms. If Grandfather took ])ride 
in any thing, it was in being the possessor of such an hon- 
orable and historic elbow-chair. 

"I know not precisely who next got possession of the 
chair after Governor Vane went back to England," said 
Grandfather. " But there is reason to believe that Pres- 
ident Duuster sat in it, when lie held the first commence- 
ment at Harvard College. You have often heai-d, chil- 
dren, how careful our forefathers were to give their young 
people a good education. They had scarcely cut down 
trees enough to make room for their own dwellings be- 
fore they began to think of establishing a college. Their 
principal object was, to rear np pious and learned minis- 
ters ; and hence old writers call Harvard College a school 
of the prophets." 

" Is the college a school of the prophets now ? " asked 
Charley. 

"It is a long while since I took my degree, Charley. 
You must ask some of the recent graduates," answered 
Grandfather. " As I was telling you. President Dunster 
sat in Grandfather's chair in 1642, when he conferred the 
degree of bachelor of arts on nine young men. They 
were the first in America who iuid received that honor. 
And now, my dear auditors, I must confess that there are 
contradictory statements and some uncertainty about the 
adventures of the chair for a period of almost ten years. 
Some say that it was occupied by your own ancestor, Wil- 
liam Hawthorne, first Speaker of the House of Repre- 
sentatives. I have nearly satisfied myself, however, that, 
during most of this questionable period, it was literally 
the chair of state. It gives me much pleasure to imagine 
that several successive governors of Massachusetts sat in 
it at the council board." 

2* c 



34 GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 

"But, Granclfatlier," interposed Charley, who was a 
matter-of-fact lijtle person, " what reason have you to 
imagine so ? " 

" Pray do imagine it. Grandfather," said Laurence. 

" With Charley's permission, I will," replied Grand- 
father, smiling. " Let us consider it settled, therefore, 
that Wintlirop, Bellingham, Dudley, and Endicott, each 
of them, when chosen governor, took his seat in our great 
chair on election day. In this chair, likewise, did those 
excellent governors preside while holdhig consultations 
with the chief councillors of the province, who were 
styled assistants. The governor sat in this chair, too, 
whenever messages were brought to him from the cham- 
ber of represent atives." 

And liere Grandfather took occasion to talk rather 
tediously about the nature and forms of government 
that established themselves, ahuost sponlaueously, in 
Massachusetts and the other New England colonies. 
Democracies were the natural growth of the New World. 
As to Massachusetts, it was at first intended ihat the 
colony should be governed by a council in London. But 
in a little while the people had the whole power in their 
own hands, and chose annually the governor, the coun- 
cillors, and the rej)resentatives. The people of Old Eng- 
land had never enjoyed anything like the lil)erties and 
privileges which the settlers of New England now pos- 
sessed. And they did not adopt these modes of govern- 
ment after long study, but in simplicity, as if there weie 
no other way for ])eo])le to be ruled. 

"But, Laurence," continued Grandfather, "when you 
want instruction on these points, you must seek it iu 
Mr. Bancroft's History. I am merely telling the history 
of a chair. To proceed. The period during which the 
governors sat in our chair was uot very full of striking 



GHANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 35 

incidents. Tlie province was now established on a secnre 
foundation ; but it did not increase so rapidly as at first, 
because the Puritans were no longer driven from Eng- 
land by persecution. However, 1hei-e was still a quiet 
and natural growth. The Lsglslatiire Incorporated towns, 
and made new purchases of lands from the Indians. A 
very memorable event took place in 1643. The colo- 
nies of Massachusetts, Plymouth, Connecticut, and New 
Haven formed a union, for the purpose of assisting each 
other in difficulties, for mutual defence against their 
enemies. They called themselves the United Colonies 
of New England." 

"Were they under a government like that of the 
United States ? " inquired Laurence. 

"No," replied Grandfather; "the different colonies 
did not compose one nation together; it was merely a 
confederacy among the governments. It somewhat re- 
sembled the league of the Amphictyons, which you re- 
member in Grecian history. But to return to our chair. 
In 1044 it was highly honored ; for Governor Endicott 
sat in it when he gave audience to an ambassador from 
the Erench governor of Acadia, or Nova Scotia. A 
treaty of peace between Massachusetts and the Erench 
colony was then signed." 

" Did England allow Massachusetts to make war and 
peace with foreign countries?" asked Laurence. 

" Massachusetts and the whole of New England was 
then almost independent of the mother country," said 
Grandfather. " There was now a civil war in England ; 
and the king, as you may well suppose, had his hands 
full at home, and could pay but little attention to these 
remote colonies. When the Parliament got the power 
into their hands, they likewise had enough to do in 
keeping down the Cavaliers. Thus New England, like 



36 GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 

a young and Lardy lad wliose father and motlier neglect 
it, was left to take care of itself. In 1040 King Charles 
was beheaded. Oliver Cromwell tlien became Protector 
of England; and as he was a Puritan himself, and had 
risen by the valor of the Englisli Puritans, he showed 
himself a loving and indulgent father to the Puritan col- 
onies in America." 

Grandfather might have continued to talk in this dull 
manner nobody knows how long; but suspecting that 
Charley would find the subject rather dry, he looked 
sidewise at that vivacious little fellow, and saw him give 
an involuntary yawn. Whereupon Grandfather pro- 
ceeded with the history of the chair, and related a very 
entertaining incident, wJiich will be found in the next 
chapter. 




CHAPTER YI. 




CCOE.DING to the most authentic records, my 
dear children," said Grandfather, "the chair, 
about this time, had tlie misfortune to break its 
leg. It was probably on account of this accident that it 
ceased to be the seat of the governors of Massachusetts ; 
for, assuredly, it would have been ominous of evil to the 
commonwealth if the chair of state had tottered upon 
three legs. Being therefore sold at auction, — alas! 
what a vicissitude for a chair that had figured in such 
high company ! — our venerable friend was knocked 
down to a certain Captain John Hull. This old gentle- 
man, on carefully examining the maimed chair, discov- 
ered that its broken leg might be clamped with iron and 
made as serviceable as ever." 

" Here is the very leg that was broken ! " exclaimed 
Charley, throwing himself down on the floor to look at 
it. "And here are the iron clamps. How well it was 
mended ! " 

When they had all sufficiently examined the broken 
leg, Grandfather told them a storv about Captain John 
Hull and 



THE PINE-TREE SHILLmaS. 



The Captain John Hull aforesaid was the mint-master 
of Massachusetts, and coined all the money that was 



38 GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 

made there. Tliis was a new line of business ; for, in 
the earlier clays of the colony, the current coinage con- 
sisted of gold and silver money of England, Portugal, 
and Spain. These coins being scarce, the people were 
often forced to barter their conunodilies instead of selling 
them. 

For instance, if a man wanted to buy a coat, he per- 
haps exchanged a bear-skin for it. If he wished for a 
barrel of molasses, he might purchase it with a pile of 
pine boards. Musket-bullets were used instead of far- 
things. The Indians had a sort of money, called wam- 
pum, which was made of clam-shells ; and this strange 
sort of specie was likewise taken in paynient of debts by 
the English settlers. Bank-bills had never been heard 
of. There was not money enough of any kind, in many 
parts of the country, to pay the salaries of the ministers; 
so that they sometimes had to take quintals of fish, 
bushels of corn, or cords of wood, instead of silver or 
gold. 

As the people grew more numerous, and their trade 
one with another increased, the want of current money 
was still more sensibly felt. To supply the demand, the 
General Court passed a law for establishing a coinage of 
shillings, sixpences, and threepences. Captain John Hull 
was appointed to manufacture this money, and was to 
have about one shilling out of every twenty to pay him 
for the trouble of making them. 

Hereupon all the old silver ni the colony was handed 
over to Captain John Hull. The battered silver cans 
and tankards, I suppose, and silver buckles, aud broken 
spoons, and silver buttons of worn-out coats, and silver 
hilts of swords that had figured at court, — all such curi- 
ous old articles were doubtless thrown into the melting- 
pot together. But by far the greater part of the silver 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 39 

consisted of bullion from the mines of Soutb America, 
which the English buccaneers — who were little better 
than pirates — ■ had taken from the Spaniards, and 
brought to Massachusetts. 

All this old and new silver being melted down and 
coined, the result was an imm3nse amount of si)l8ndid 
shillings, sixpences, and threepences. Each had the 
date, 1652, on the one side, and the figure of a pine- 
tree on the other. Hence they were called pine-tree 
shillings. And for every twenty shillings that he coined, 
you will remember, Captain John Hull was entitled to 
put one shilling into his own pocket. 

The magistrates soon began to suspect that the mint- 
master would have the best of the bargain. They offered 
him a large sum of money if he would but give up that 
twentieth shilling which he was continually dropping 
into his own pocket. But Captain Hull declared liim- 
self perfectly satisfied with the shilling. And well he 
might be ; for so diligently did he labor, that, in a few 
years, his pockets, his money-bags, and his strong box 
were overflowing with pine-tree shilUngs. This was 
probably the case when he came into possession of Grand- 
father's chair; and, as he had worked so hard at the 
mint, it was certainly proper that he should have a com- 
fortable chair to rest himself in. 

When the mint-master had grown very ricli, a young 
man, Samuel Sewell by name, came a-courting to his 
only daughter. His daughter — whose name I do not 
kuow, but we will call her Betsey — was a fine, hearty 
damsel, by no means so slender as some young ladies of 
our own days. On the contrary, having always fed heart- 
ily on pumpkin-pies, doughnuts, Indian puddings, and 
other Puritan dainties, she was as round and plump as 
a pudding herself. With this round, rosy Miss Betsey 



40 GUAXDFATHER'S CHAIR. 

did Samuel Sewell fall in love. As he was a young man 
of good character, industrious in his business, and a mem- 
ber of the church, the mint-master very readily gave his 
consent. 

" Yes, you may take her," said he, in his rongh way, 
" and you '11 find her a heavy burden enough ! " 

On the wedding day, we may suppose that honest 
John Hull dressed himself in a plum-colored coat, all the 
buttons of which were made of pine-tree shillings. The 
buttons of his waistcoat were sixpences ; and the knees 
of liis small-clothes were buttoned with silver threepences. 
Thus attired, he sat with great dignity in Grandfather's 
chair; and, being a portly old gentleman, he completely 
filled it from elbow to elbow. On the o})posite side of 
the room, between her bridcmaids, sat Miss Betsey. 
She was blushing with all her might, and looked like 
a full-blown peony, or a great red apple. 

There, too, was the bridegroom, dressed in a fine pur- 
ple coat and gold-lace waistcoat, with as much other 
finery as the Puritan laws and customs would allow him 
to put on. His hair was cropped close to his liead, be- 
cause Governor Endicott had forbidden any man to wear 
it below the ears. But he was a very personable young 
man ; and so thought the bridemaids and Miss Betsey 
herself. 

The mint-master also was pleased with his new son-in- 
law ; especially as he had courted Miss Betsey out of 
pure love, and had said nothing at all about her portion. 
So, when the marriage ceremony was over. Captain Hull 
whispered a word to two of his men-servants, who im- 
mediately went out, and soon returned, lugging in a large 
pair of scales. They were such a pair as wholesale mer- 
chants use for weighing bulky commodities ; and quite 
a bulky commodity was now to be weighed in them. 



GRAXDFATHER'S CHAIH. 41 

"Daughter Betsey," said the mint-master, "get into 
one side of these scales." 

Miss Betsey — or Mrs. Sewell, as we must now call 
her — did as she was bid, like a dutiful child, without 
any question of the why and wherefore. But what her 
father could mean, unless to make her husband pay for her 
by the pound (in which case she would have been a dear 
bargain), she had not the least idea. 

" And now," said honest John Hull to the servants, 
" bring that box hither." 

The box to which the mint-master pointed was a huge, 
square, iron-bound oaken chest ; it was big enough, my 
children, for all four of you to play at hide-and-seek in. 
The servants tugged with might and main, but could not 
lift this enormous receptacle, and were finally obliged to 
drag it across the floor. Captain Hull then took a key 
from his girdle, unlocked the chest, and lifted its ponder- 
ous lid. Behold ! it was full to the brim of bright pine- 
tree shillings, fresh from the mint ; and Samuel Sewell 
began to think that his father-in-law had got possession 
of all the money in the Massachusetts treasury. But 
it was only the mint-master's honest share of the coin- 
age. 

Then the servants, at Captain Hull's command, heaped 
double handfuls of shillings into one side of the scales, 
while Betsey remained in the other. Jingle, jingle, went 
the shillings, as handful after handful was thrown in, till, 
plump and ponderous as she was, they fairly weighed the 
young lady from the floor. 

" There, sou Sewell ! " cried the honest mint-master, 
resuming his seat in Grandfather's chair, " take these 
shillings for my daughter's portion. Use her kindly, 
and thank Heaven for her. It is not every wife that 's 
worth her weight in silver ! " 



42 GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 

The cliildren laughed heartily at this legend, and 
would hardly be convinced but tiiut Grandfather had 
made it out of his own head. He assured them tailh- 
fully, however, that he had found it in the pages of a 
grave historian, and had merely tried to tell it in a some- 
what funnier style. As for Samuel Sewell, he after- 
wards became chief justice of Massachusetts. 

" Well, Grandfather," remarked Chira, " if wedding 
portions nowadays were paid as Miss Betsey's was, young 
ladies would not pride themselves upon an airy figure, as 
many of them do." 




CHAPTEE VII. 




HEN liis little audience next assembled round 
the chair, Grandfather gave them a doleful his- 
tory of the Quaker persecution, which began 
in 165 G, and raged for about three years in Massachu- 
setts. 

He told tliem how, in the first place, twelve of the con- 
verts of George Fox, the first Quaker in the world, had 
come over from England. They seemed to be impelled 
by an earnest love for the souls of men, and a pure de- 
sire to make known what they considered a revelation 
from Heaven. But the rulers looked upon them as plot- 
ting the downfall of all government and religion. They 
were banished from the colony. In a little while, how- 
ever, not only the first twelve had returned, but a multi- 
tude of other Quakers had come to rebuke the rulers and 
to preach against the priests and steeple-houses. 

Grandfather described the hatred and scorn with which 
these enthusiasts were received. They were thrown into 
dungeons ; they were beaten with many stripes, women 
as well as men ; they were driven forth into the wilder- 
ness, and left to the tender mercies of wild beasts and 
Indians. The children were amazed to hear that the 
more the Quakers were scourged, and imprisoned, and 
banished, the more did the sect increase, both by the 



44< GHAIS'DFATIIEE'S CHAIR. 

influx of strangers and by converts from among flie 
Puritans. But Grandfather told them that God had put 
something into the soul of man, which always turned the 
cruelties of the persecutor to nought. 

He went on to relate, that, in 1659, two Quakers, 
named William Robinson and Marmaduke Stephenson, 
were hanged at Boston. A Avoman had been sentenced 
to die with them, but was reprieved on condition of her 
leaving the colony. Her name was Mary Dyer. In the 
year 1660 she returned to Boston, although she knew 
death awaited her there ; and, if Grandfather had been 
correctly informed, an incident had then taken place 
which connects her with our story. This Mary Dyer 
had entered the mint-master's dwelling, clothed in sack- 
cloth and ashes, and seated herself in our great chair with 
a sort of dignity and state. Then she proceeded to de- 
liver what she called a message from Heaven ; but in the 
midst of it they dragged her to prison, 

" And was she executed ? " asked Laurence. 

" She was," said Grandfather. 

" Grandfather," cried Charley, clinching his fist, " I 
would have fought for that poor Quaker woman ! " 

" Ah, but if a sword had been drawn for her," said 
Laurence, " it would have taken away all the beauty of 
her death." 

It seemed as if hardly any of the preceding stories had 
thrown such an interest around Grandfather's chair as 
did the fact that the poor, persecuted, wandering Quaker 
woman had rested in it for a moment. The children 
were so much excited that Grandfather found it necessary 
to bring his account of the persecution to a close. 

"In 1660, the same year in which Mary Dyer was 
executed," said he, "Charles II. was restored to the 
throne of his fathers. This king had many vices ; but he 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 45 

would not permit blood to be shed, under pretence of 
religion, in any part of his dominions. The Quakers in 
England told him what liad been done to their brethren 
iu Massachusetts ; and lie sent orders to Governor Endi- 
cott to forbsar all such proceedings in future. And so 
ended the Quaker persecution, — one of the most mourn- 
ful passages in the history of our forefathers." 

Grandfather then told his auditors, that, shortly after 
the above incident, the great chair had been given by the 
mint-master to the Rev. Mr. John Eliot. He was the 
first minister of lloxbury. But besides attending to his 
pastoral duties there, he learned the language of the red 
men, and often went into the woods to preach to them. 
So earnestly did he labor for their conversion that he has 
always been called the apostle to the Indians. The men- 
tion of this holy man suggested to Grandfather the pro- 
priety of giving a brief sketch of the history of the In- 
dians, so far as they were connected wth the English 
colonists. 

A short period before the arrival of tlie first Pilgrims 
at Plymouth there had been a very grievous plague 
among the red men ; and the sages and ministers of that 
day were inclined to the opinion that Providence had 
sent this mortality in order to make room for the settle- 
ment of the English. But I know not why we should 
suppose that an Indian's life is less precious, in the eye 
of Heaven, than that of a white man. Be that as it 
may, death had certainly been very busy with the savage 
tribes. 

In many places the English found the wigwams de- 
serted and the cornfields growing to waste, with none to 
harvest the grain. There were heaps of earth also, 
which, being dug open, proved to be Indian graves, con- 
taining bows and flint-headed spears and arrows ; for the 



46 GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 

Indians buried tlie dead wamor's weapons along with 
liiin. In some spots there were skulls and other huniau 
bones lying unburied. In 1633, and the year afterwards, 
the small-pox broke out among the Massachusetts In- 
dians, multitudes of whom died by this terrible disease of 
the Old World. These misfortunes made them far less 
powerful than they had formerly been. 

Tor nearly half a century after the arrival of the Eng- 
lish the red men showed themselves generally inclined to 
peace and amity. They often made submission when 
they might have niade successful war. The Plymouth 
settlers, led by the famous Captain Miles Standisb, slew 
some of them, in 1623, without any very evident neces- 
sity for so doing. In IG3G, and the following year, there 
was the most dreadful war that had yet occurred between 
the Indians and the English. The Connecticut settlers, 
assisted by a celebrated Indian chief named Uncas, bore 
the brunt of this war, with but little aid from Massachu- 
setts. Many hundreds of the hostile Indians were slain 
or burned in their wigwams. Sassacus, their sachem, fled 
to another tribe, after his own people were defeated; but 
he was murdered by them, and his head was sent to his 
English enemies. 

From that period down to the time of King Philij)'s 
War, which will be mentioned hereafter, there was not 
much trouble with the Indians. But the colonists were 
always on their guard, and kept their weapons ready for 
the conflict. 

" I have sometimes doubted," said Grandfather, when he 
had told these things to the children, — " I have sometimes 
doubted whether there was more than a single man, among 
our forefathers, who realized that an Indian possesses a 
mind, and a heart, and an immortal soul. That single 
man was John Eliot. All the rest of the early settlers 



GRANDFATHEU'S CHAIR. 47 

seemed to tlihik tliat tlie Indians were an inferior race of 
beings, whom the Creator had merely allowed to keep 
possession of this beautiful country till the white men 
shoud be in want of it." 

" Did the pious men of those days never try to make 
Christians of them? " asked Laurence. 

"Sometimes, it is true," answered Grandfather, "the 
magistrates and ministers would talk about civilizing and 
converting the red people. But, at the bottom of their 
liearts, they would have had almost as much expectation 
of civilizing the wild bear of the woods and making him 
fit for paradise. They felt no faith in the success of any 
such attempts, because they had no love for the poor 
Indians. Now, Eliot was full of love for them ; and 
therefore so full of faith and hope that he spent the la- 
bor of a lifetime in their behalf." 

" I would have conquered them first, and then con- 
verted them," said Charley. 

"Ah, Charley, there spoke the very spirit of our fore- 
fathers ! " replied Grandfather. " But Mr. Ehot had a 
better spirit. He looked upon them as his brethren. 
He persuaded as many of them as he could to leave off 
their idle and wandering habits, and to build houses and 
cultivate the earth, as the English did. He established 
schools among them and taught many of the Indians 
liow to read. He taught them, likewise, how to pray. 
Hence they were called ' praying Indians.' Finally, hav- 
ing spent the best years of his life for their good, Mr. 
Eliot resolved to spend the remainder iu doing them a 
yet greater benefit." 

" I know what that was ! " cried Laurence. 

" He sat down in his study," continued Grandfather, 
"and began a translation of the Bible into the Indian 
tongue. It was while he was engaged in this pious 



48 



GRAND FATHER'S CHAIR. 



work that, the mint-master gave liim our great chair. 
His toil needed it and deserved it." 

" O Grandfather, tell us all about that Indian Bible ! " 
exclaimed Laurence. " 1 have seen it in the library of 
the Athenaeum; and the tears came into my eyes to 
think that there were no Indians left to read it." 




CHAPTER VIII. 



S Grandfather was a great admirer of the apostle 
Eliot, he was g]ad to comply with the earnest 
request which Laurence had made at the close 
of the last chapter. So he proceeded to describe how- 
good Mr. Eliot labored, while he was at work upon 




THE INDIAN BIBLE. 

Mj dear children, what a task would you think it, 
even with a long lifetime before you, were you bidden to 
copy every chapter, and verse, and word in yonder family 
Bible! Would not this be a heavy toil?. But if the 
task were, not to write off the English Bible, but to 
learn a language utterly unlike all otlier tongues, — a 
language which hitherto had never been learned, except 
by the Indians themselves, from their mothers' lips, — 
a language never written, and the strange words of 
which seemed inexpressible by letters, — if the task were, 
first to learn this new variety of speech, and then to 
translate the Bible into it, and to do it so carefully that 
not one idea throughout the holy book should be changed, 
''— what would induce you to undertake this toil ? Yet 
this was what the apostle Eliot did. 

It was a mighty work for a man, now growing old, to 
3 i> 



50 GEANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 

take upon liimself. And wliat earthly reward could lie 
expect from it ? None ; no reward on earth. But he 
believed that the red men were the descendants of those 
lost tribes of Israel of whom history has been able to 
tell us nothing for thousands of years. He hoped that 
God had sent the English across the ocean, Gentiles as 
tliey were, to enlighten this benighted portion of his 
once chosen race. And when he should be summoned 
hence, he trusted to meet blessed spirits in another world, 
whose bliss would have been earned by his patient toil in 
translating the word of God. This hope and trust were 
far dearer to him than anything that earth could offer. 

Sometimes, Avliile thus at work, he was visited by 
learned men, who desired to know what literary under- 
taking Mr. Eliot had in hand. They, like himself, had 
been bred in the studious cloisters of a university, and 
■were supposed to possess all the erudition which man- 
kind has hoarded up from age to age. Greek and Latin 
■were as familiar to them as the babble of tlnjir childhood. 
Hebrew was like their mother tongue. They had grown 
gray in study ; their eves were bleared with poring over 
print and manuscript by the light of the midnight lamp. 

And yet, how much had they left unlearned! Mr. 
Eliot would put into their hands some of the pages 
■wiiich he had been writing ; and behold ! the gray-headed 
men stammered over the long, strange words, hke a little 
child in his first attempts to read. Then would the 
apostle call to him an Indian boy, one of his scholars, 
and show him the manuscript which had so puzzled the 
learned Englishmen. 

"Read this, my child," said he; "these are some 
brethren of mine, who ■oould fain hear the sound of thy 
native tongue." 

Then would the Indian boy cast his eyes over the 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 51 

Tnysterious page, and read it so skilfully lliat it souiid3d 
like wild music. It seemed as if the forest leaves were 
singing in the ears of his auditors, and as if the roar of 
distant streams were poured through the young Indian's 
voice. Such were the sounds amid which the language 
of the red man had been formed ; and they were still 
heard to echo in it. 

The lesson being over, Mr. Eliot would give the In- 
dian boy an apple or a cake, and bid him leap forth into 
the opsn air which his free nature loved. The apostle 
was kind to children, and even shared in their sporls 
sometimes. And when his visitors had bidden him fare- 
well, the good mau turned patiently to his toil again. 

No other Englishman iiad ever understood the Indian 
character so well, nor possessed so great an influence 
over the New England tribes, as the apostle did. His 
advice and assistance must often have been valuable to 
his countrymen in their transactions with the Indians. 
Occasionally, perhaps, the governor and some of the 
councillors came to visit Mr. EHot. Perchance they were 
seeking some method to circumvent the forest people. 
They inquired, it may be, how they could obtain posses- 
sion of such and such a tract of their rich land. Or 
they talked of making the Indians their servants ; as if 
God had destined them for perpetual bondage to the 
more powerful white man. 

Perha})s, too, some warlike captain, dressed in his buff 
coat, with a corslet beneath it, accompanied the gov- 
ernor and councillors. Laying his hand upon his sword 
hilt, he would declare, that the only method of dealing 
with the red men was to meet them with the sword drawn 
and the musket presented. 

But the apostle resisted both the craft of the politician 
and the fierceness of the AA^arrior. 



52 GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 

" Treat these sons of the forest as men and brethren," 
he would say ; " and let us endeavor to make them 
Cliristians. Their forefathers were of that chosen race 
whom God delivered from Egyptian bondage. Perchance 
he has destined us to deliver the children from the 
more cruel bondage of ignorance and idolatry. Chiefly 
for this end, it may be, we were directed across the 
ocean." 

When these other visitors were gone, Mr. Eliot bent 
himself again over the half-written page. He dared 
hardly relax a moment from his toil. He felt that, in 
tiie book which he was translating, there was a deep hu- 
man as well as heavenly wisdom, which would of itself 
suffice to civilize and refine tiie savage tribes. Let the 
Bible be diffused among them, and all earthly good would 
follow. But how slight a consideration was this, when 
he reflected that the eternal welfare of a whole race of 
men depended upon his accomplishment of the task w^hich 
he had set himself! What if his hands should be pal- 
sied? What if his mind should lose its vigor? What 
if death should come upon him ere the work were done? 
Then must the red man wander in the dark wilderness of 
heathenism forever. 

Impelled by such thoughts as these, he sat writing in 
the great chair when the pleasant summer breeze came in 
through his open casement ; and also when the fire of 
forest logs sent up its blaze and smoke, through the broad 
stone chimney, into the wintry air. Before the earliest 
bird sang in the morning the apostle's lamp was kindled ; 
and, at midnight, his weary head was not yet upon its 
pillow. And at length, leaning back in the great chair, 
lie could say to himself, with a holy triumph, " The work 
is finished ! " 

It was finished. Here was a Bible for the Indians. 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 53 

Those long-lost descendants of tlie ten tribes of Israel 
would now learn the history of their forefathers. That 
grace which the ancient Israelites had forfeited was of- 
fered anew to their children. 

There is no impiety in believing that, when his long 
life was over, the apostle of the Indians was welcomed 
to the celestial abodes by the prophets of ancient days 
and by those earliest apostles and evangelists who had 
drawn their inspiration from the immediate presence of 
the Saviour. They first had preached truth and salvation 
to the world. And Eliot, separated from them by many 
centuries, yet full of the same spirit, had borne the like 
message to the New World of the west. Since the first 
days of Christianity, there has been no man more worthy 
to be numbered in the brotherhood of the apostles than 
Eliot. 

" My heart is not satisfied to think," observed Lau- 
rence, " that Mr. Eliot's labors have done no good except 
to a few Indians of his own time. Doubtless he would 
not have regretted his toil, if it were the means of sav- 
ing but a single soul. Biit it is a grievous thing to me 
that he should have toiled so hard to translate the Bible, 
and now the language and the people are gone ! The 
Indian Bible itself is almost the only relic of both." 

" Laurence," said his Grandfather, " if ever you should 
doubt that man is capable of disinterested zeal for his 
brother's good, then remember how the apostle Eliot 
toiled. And if you should feel your own self-interest 
pressing upon your heart too closely, then think of 
EUot's Indian Bible, It is good for the world that such 
a man has lived and left this emblem of his life." 

The tears gushed into the eyes of Laurence, and h3 
acknowledsred that Eliot had not toiled in vain. Little 



54 GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 

Alice put up lier arms to Grandfather, and drew down 
liis Avliite head beside her own golden locks. 

" Grandfather," whispered she, " 1 want to kiss good 
Mr. Eliot ! " 

And, doubtless, good Mr. Eliot would gladly receive 
the kiss of so sweet a child as little Alice, and Avould 
think it a portion of his reward in heaven. 

Grandfather now observed that Dr. Francis had writ- 
ten a very beautiful Life of Eliot, which he advised Lau- 
rence to peruse. He then spoke of King Philip's War, 
which began in 1675, and terminated wilh the death of 
King Philip, in the following year. Philip was a proud, 
fierce Indian, wliom Mr. EHot had vainly endeavored to 
convert to the Christian faitli. 

" It must have been a great anguish to the apostle," 
continued Grandfather, " to hear of mutual slaughter 
and outrage between his own countrymen and those for 
whom he felt the affection of a father. A few of the 
praying Indians joined the followers of King Philip. A 
greater number fought on the side of the English. In 
the course of the war the little connuunity of red people 
whom Mr. Eliot had begun to civilize was scattered, and 
probably never was restored to a flourishing condition. 
But his zeal did not grow cold ; and only about five 
years before liis death he took great pains in preparing a 
new edition of the Indian Bible." 

" I do wish. Grandfather," cried Charley, " you would 
tell us all about the battles in King Philip's War." 

" O no ! " exclaimed Clara. " Who wants to hear about 
tomahawks and scalping-knives ? " 

" No, Charley," replied Grandfather, " I have no time 
to spare in talking about battles. You must be content 
with knowing that it was the bloodiest war that the In- 
dians had ever waged against the white men ; and that. 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 55 

at its close, the English set King Philip's head upon 
a pole." 

" Who was the captain of the English ? " asked Char- 

" Their most noted captain was Benjamin Church, — 
a very famous warrior," said Grandfather, "But I assure 
YOU, Charley, that neither Captain Church, nor any of 
tlie officers and soldiers who fought in King Philip's War, 
did anything a thousandth part so glorious as Mr. EUot 
did when he translated the Bible for the Indians." 

" Let Laurence be the apostle," said Charley to him- 
self, "and I will be the captain." 





CHAPTER IX. 

HE cliildren were now accustomed to assemble 
round Grandfather's chair at all their unoccu- 
pied moments ; and often it was a striking pic- 
ture to behold the -white-headed old sire, -with this flowery 
wreath of young people around him. When he talked 
to them, it was the past speaking to the present, or 
rather to the future, — for the children were of a gen- 
eration which had not become actual. Their part in life, 
thus far, was only to be happy and to draw knowledge 
from a thousand sources. As yet, it was not their time 
to do. 

Sometimes, as Grandfather gazed at their fair, un- 
worldly countenances, a mist of tears bedimmed his 
spectacles. He almost regretted that it was necessary 
for them to know anything of the past or to provide 
aught for the future. He could have wished that they 
might be always the happy, youthful creatures who 
had hitherto sported around his chair, without inquiring 
whether it had a history. It grieved him to think that 
his -little Alice, who was a flower bud fresli from para- 
dise, must open her leaves to the rough breezes of the 
world, or ever open them in any clime. So sweet a child 
she was, that it seemed fit her infancy should be im- 
mortal. 



GUANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 57 

But sucli repiiiiiigs were merely flittini^ shadows across 
tlie old man's heart. He had faith enough to believe, 
and wisdom enough to know, tliat ths bloom of the flower 
would be even holier and happier than its bud. Even 
within himself (though Grandfather was now at that 
period of life when the veil of mortality is apt to hang 
hsavily over the soul, still, in his inmost being) he was 
conscious of something that he would not have exchanged 
for the best happiness of childhood. It was a bliss to 
which every sort of earthly experience — all that he had 
enjoyed, or suffered, or seen, or heard, or acted, with the 
broodings of his soul upon the whole — had contributed 
somewhat. In the same manner must a bliss, of which 
now they could have no conception, grow up within these 
children, and form a part of their sustenance for immor- 
tality. 

So Grandfather, with renewed cheerfulness, continued 
his history of the chair, trusting that a profounder wis- 
dom than his own would extract, from these flowers and 
weeds of Time, a fragrance that might last beyond all 
time. 

At this period of the story Grandfather threw a glance 
backward as far as the year 1660. He spoke of the ill- 
concealed reluctance with which the Puritans in America 
h.\d acknowledged the sway of Charles IT. on his restora- 
tion to his father's throne. When death had stricken 
Oliver Cromwell, that miglity protector had no sincerer 
mourners than in New England. The new king had 
been more than a year upon the throne before his acces- 
sion was proclaimed in Boston ; although the neglect to 
perform the ceremony might have subjected the rulers to 
the charge of treason. 

During the reign of Charles II., however, the Ameri- 
can colonies had but little reason to complain of harsh or 
3* 



58 GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 

tyramiical treatment. But ^lien Cliarles died, in 16S5, 
and was succeeded by liis brother James, the patriarchs 
of New England began to tremble. King James was a 
bigoted Roman Catholic, and was known to be of an ar- 
bitrary temper. It was feared by all Protestants, and 
chiefly by the Puritans, that he would assume despotic 
power and attempt to establish Popery throughout his 
dominions. Our forefathers felt that they had no security 
either for their religion or their liberties. 

The result proved that they had reason for their appre- 
hensions. King James caused the charters of all the 
American colonies to be taken away. The old charter of 
Massachusetts, which the people regarded as a holy thing 
and as the foundation of all their liberties, was declared 
void. The colonists were now no longer freemen ; they 
were entirely dependent on the king's ])leasure. At first, in 
1GS5, King James appointed Joseph Dudley, a native of 
Massachusetts, to be president of New England. But 
soon afterwards Sir Edmund Andros, an officer of the 
English army, arrived, with a commission to be governor- 
general of New England and New York. 

The king had given such powers to Sir Edmund Andros 
that there was now no liberty, nor scarcely any law, in 
the colonies over which he ruled. The inhabitants were 
not allowed to choose representatives, and consequently 
had no voice whatever in the government, nor control 
over the measures that were adopted. The councillors 
with whom the governor consulted on matters of state 
were appointed by himself. Tiiis sort of government 
was no better than an absolute despotism. 

" The people suffered much wrong while Sir Edmund 
Andros ruled over them," continued Grandfather; "and 
they were apprehensive of much more. He had brought 
some soldiers with him from England, who took posses- 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 59 

sioii of tlie old fortress on Castle Island and of the fortifi- 
cation on Fort Hill. Sometimes it was rumored that a 
general massacre of the inhabitants was to be perpetrated 
by these soldiers. Tiiere were reports, too, that all the 
ministers were to be slain or imprisoned." 

" For what ? " inquired Charley. 

*' Because they were the leaders of the people, Char- 
ley," said Grandfather. "A minister was a more formida- 
ble man than a general in those days. Well, wdiile these 
things were going on in America, King James had so 
misgoverned the people of England that they sent over 
to Holland for the Prince of Orange. He had married 
the king's daughter, and was therefore considered to 
have a claim to the crown. On his arrival in England, 
the Prince of Orange was proclaimed king, by the name 
of William III. Poor old King James made his escape 
to Erance." 

Grandfather told how, at the first intelligence of the 
landing of the Prince of Orange in England, the people 
of Massachusetts rose in their strength and overthrew 
the government of Sir Edmund Andros. He, with 
Joseph Dudley, Edmund Randolph, and his other princi- 
pal adherents, was thrown into prison. Old Simon 
Bradstreet, who had been governor when King James 
took away the charter, was called by the people to gov- 
ern them again. 

" Governor Bradstreet was a venerable old man, nearly 
ninety years of age," said Grandfather, " He came over 
with the first settlers, and had l)een the intimate compan- 
ion of all those excellent and famous men who laid the 
foundation of our country. They were all gone before 
him to the grave ; and Bradstreet was the last of the 
Puritans." 

Grandfather paused a n:ioment and smiled, as if he had 



60 GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 

sometlilng very interesting to tell liis auditors. He then 
proceeded : — 

" And now, Laurence, - — now, Clara, — now, Charley, 
— now, my dear little Alice, — what chair do you think 
had been placed in the council chamber, for old Governor 
Bradstreet to take his seat in ? Would you believe that 
it was this very chair in which Grandfather now sits, and 
of Avhich he is telling you the history ? " 

"I am glad to hear it, with all my heart ! " cried Char- 
ley, after a shout of deliglit. " I thought Grandfather 
Lad quite forgotten the chair." 

" It was a solemn and affecting sight," said Grand- 
father, "when this venerable patriarch, with his white 
beard flowing down upon his breast, took his seat in his 
chair of state. Within his remembrance, and even since 
his mature age, the site where now stood the populous 
town had been a wild and forest-covered peninsula. The 
province, now so fertile and spotted with thrivhig vil- 
lages, had been a desert wilderness. He was surrounded 
by a shouting multitude, most of whom had been born in 
the country which he had helped to found. They were 
of one generation, and he of another. As the old man 
looked upon them, and beheld new faces everywhere, he 
must have felt that it was now time for him to go, whither 
his brethren had gone before him." 

" Were the former governors all dead and gone ? " 
asked Laurence. 

" All of tliem," replied Grandfather. " Winthrop had 
been dead forty years. Endicott died, a very old man, in 
1065. Sir Henry Vane was beheaded, in London, at 
the beginning of the reign of Charles IL And Haynes, 
Dudley, Bellingham, and Leverett, who had all been gov- 
ernors of Massachusetts, were now likewise in their 
graves. Old Simon Bradstreet was the sole represent- 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 61 

atiVe of that departed brotlierliood. There was no other 
public man remaining- to connect the ancient system of 
government and manners with tlie new system whicU 
was about to take its phice. Tlie era of the Puritans 
was now completed." 

" I am sorry for it ! " observed Laurence ; " for though 
tliey were so stern, yet it seems to me that there was 
something warm and real about them. I think, Grand- 
father, that each of these old governors should have his 
statue set up in our State House, sculptured out ot" the 
hardest of New England granite." 

" It would not be amiss, Laurence," said Grandfather; 
*' but perhaps clay, or some other perishable material, 
might suffice for some of their successors. But let us 
go back to our chair. It was occupied by Governor 
Bradstreet from April, 1689, until May, 1692. Sir Wil- 
liam Phipps then arrived in Boston with a new charter 
from Kmg William and a commission to be governor." 




CHAPTEH X. 




ND what became of the chair? " mquired Clara. 
" The outward aspect of our chair," rephed 
Grandfather, "was now somewhat llie worse for 
its long and arduous services. It was considered hardly 
magnificent enough to be allowed to keep its place in the 
council chamber of Massachusetts. In fact, it w;is ban- 
ished as an article of useless lumber. But Sir AVilliam 
Pl)ipps happened to see it, and, being much pleased with 
its construction, resolved to take the good old chair into 
his private mansion. Accordingly, with his own guber- 
natorial hands, he repaired one of its arms, which had 
been slightly damaged." 

" Why, Grandfather, here is the very arm ! " inter- 
rupted Charley, in great wonderment. "And did Sir 
William Phipps put in these screws with his own hands ? 
I am sure he did it beautifully ! But how came a gov- 
ernor to know how to mend a chair ? " 

" I will tell you a story about the early life of Sir Wil- 
liam Phipps," said Grandfather. "You will then per- 
ceive that he well knew how to use his hands." 

So Grandfather related the wonderful and true tale of 



THE SUNKEN TREASURE. 



Picture to yourselves, my dear children, a handsome, 
old-fashioned room, with a large, open cupboard at one 



GUANDFATHEE'S CHAIE. 63 

end, In wliicli is displayed a magnificent gold cup, witli 
some other splendid articles of gold and silver plafe. In 
another part of the room, opposite to a tall looking-glass, 
stands our beloved chair, newly polished, and adorued 
with a gorgeous cushion of crimson velvet tufted with 
gold. 

In the chair sits a man of strong and sturdy frame, 
whose face has been roughened by northern tempests and 
blackened by the burning sun of the West Indies. He 
wears an immense periwig, flowing down over his shoul- 
ders. His coat has a wide embroidery of golden Ibliage ; 
and his waistcoat, likewise, is all flowered over and be- 
dizened with gold. His red, rough hands, which have 
done many a good day's work with the hammer and adze, 
are half covered by the delicate lace ruffles at his Avrists. 
On a table lies his silver-hilted sword ; and in a corner of 
the room stands his gold-headed cane, made of a beauti- 
fully polished West India wood. 

Somewhat such an aspect as this did Sir William 
Phipps present when he sat in Grandfather's chair, after 
the king had appointed him governor of Massachusetts. 
Truly there was need that the old chair should be var- 
nished and decorated with a crimson cushion, in order to 
make it suitable for such a magnificent-looking personage. 

But Sir William Phipps had not always worn a gold- 
embroidered coat, nor always sat so much at his ease as 
he did in Grandfather's chair. He was a poor man's son, 
and was born in the province of Maine, wliere he used to 
tend sheep upon the hills in his boyhood and youth. 
Until he had grown to be a man, he did not even know 
how to read and write. Tired of tending sheep, he next 
apprenticed himself to a ship-carpenter, and spent about 
four years in hewing the crooked limbs of oak-trees into 
knees for vessels. 



64 GHAXDFATHEIl'S CHAIU. 

In 1673, when lie was twenty -two years old, he came 
to Boston, and soon afterwards was married to a widow 
lady, who had property enough to set him up in business. 
It was not long, however, before he lost all the money 
that he had acquired by his marriage, and became a poor 
man again. Still he was not discouraged. He often 
told his wife that, some time or other, he should be very 
rich, and would build a " fair brick house" in the Green 
Lane of Boston. 

Do not suppose, children, that he had been to a fortune- 
teller to inquire liis destiny. It was his own energy and 
spirit of enterprise, and his resolution to lead an indus- 
trious life, that made him look forward with so mucli 
confidence to better days. 

Several" years passed away, and William Phipps had 
not yet gained the riches which he promised to liinself. 
During this time he had begun to follow the sea for a 
living. In the year 1684 he itappened to hear of a Span- 
ish ship which had been cast away near the Bahama 
Islands, and which was supposed to contain a great deal 
of gold and silver. Pliipps went to the place in a small 
vessel, hoping that he sliould be able to recover some of the 
treasure from the wreck. He did not succeed, however, 
in fishing up gold and silver enough to pay the expenses 
of his voyage. 

But, before he returned, he was told of another Span- 
ish ship, or galleon, which had been cast away near 
Porto de la Plata. She had now lain as much as fifty 
years beneath the waves. T])is old ship had been ladened 
with immense wealth ; and, hitherto, nobody had thought 
of tlie possibility of recovering any part of it from the 
deep sea which was rolling and tossing it about. But 
though it was now an old story, and the most aged peo- 
ple had almost forgotten that such a vessel had been 



GRANDFATHEE'S CHAIR. 65 

wrecked, William Phipps resolved that tlie sunken treas- 
ure should again be brought to liglit. 

He went to London and obtained admittance to King 
James, who had not yet been driven from his throne. 
He told the king of the vast wealth that was lying at the 
bottom of the sea. King James listened with attention, 
and thought this a fine opportunity to fill his treasury 
with Spanish gold. He appointed William Phipps to be 
captain of a vessel, called the Rose Algier, carrying eigh- 
teen guns and ninety-five men. So now he was Captain 
Phipps of the English navy. 

Captain Phipps sailed from England in the Rose Al- 
gier, and cruised for nearly two years in the West Indies, 
endeavoring to find the wreck of the Spanisli ship. But 
the sea is so wide and deep, that it is no easy matter to 
discover the exact spot where a sunken vessel lies. The 
prospect of success seemed very small ; and most people 
would have thought that Captain Phipps was as far from 
having money enough to build a " fair brick house " as 
he was while he tended sheep. 

The seamen of the Rose Algier became discouraged, 
and gave up all hope of making their fortunes by discov- 
ering the Spanish wreck. They wanted to compel Cap- 
tahi Phipps to turn pirate. There was a much better 
prospect, they thought, of growing rich by plundering 
vessels which still sailed in the sea than by seeking for a 
ship that had lain beneath the waves full half a century. 
They broke out in open mutiny ; but were finally mas- 
tered by Phipps, and compelled to obey his orders. It 
would have been dangerous, however, to continue much 
longer at sea with such a crew of mutinous sailors ; and, 
besides, the Rose Algier was leaky and unseaworthy. 
So Captain Phipps judged it best to return to Eng- 
land. 



bb - GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 

Before leaving the West Indies, he met with a Span- 
iard, an old man, who remembered the wreck of the 
Spanish ship, and gave him directions how to find the 
very spot. It was on a reef of rocks, a few leagues from 
Porto de la Plata. 

On liis arrival in England, therefore, Captain Phipps 
solicited the king to let hin> have anotlier vessel and send 
him back again to the West Indies. But King James, 
wlio had probably expected that the Rose Algier would 
return laden with gold, refused to have anylliing more 
to do with the afi'air. Phipps might never have been 
able to renew the search if the Duke of Albemarle and 
some otiier noblemen had not lent their assistance. Thej 
fitted out a ship, and gave the command to Captain 
Phipps. He sailed from England, and arrived safely at 
Porto de la Plata, where he took an adze and assisted his 
men to build a large boat. 

The boat was intended for the pnrpose of going closer 
to the reef of rocks than a large vessel could safely ven- 
ture. When it was finished, the captain sent several 
men in it to examine the spot where the Si)anish ship 
was said to have been wrecked. They were accompanied 
by some Indians, who were skilful divers, and could go 
down a great way into the depths of the sea. 

The boat's crew proceeded to the reef of rocks, and 
rowed round and round it a great many tnnes. They 
gazed down into the water, which was so transpar- 
ent tliat it seemed as if they could have seen the gold 
and silver at the bottom, had there been any of those 
precious metals there. Nothing, however, could tliry 
see ; nothing more valuable than a curious sea shrub, 
which was growing beneath the water, in a crevice of the 
reef of rocks. It fiaunted to and fro with the swell and 
reflux of the waves, and looked as bright and beautiful 
as if its leaves were gold. 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 67 

"We won't go back emptj-haiided," cried an English 
sailor; and then lie spoke to one of the Indian divers. 
" Dive down and bring me that pretty sea shrub there. 
That 's the only treasure we shall find." 

Down plunged the diver, and soon rose dripping from 
the water, holding the sea shrub in his hand. But he 
had learned some news at the bottom of the sea. 

" Tliere are some ship's guns," said he, the moment 
lie had drawn breath, " some great cannon, among the 
rocks, near where the shrub was growing." 

No sooner had he spoken than the English sailors 
knew that they had found the very spot wliere the Span- 
isli galleon had been wrecked, so many years before. 
The other Indian divers immediately plunged over the 
boat's side and swam headlong down, groping among the 
rocks and sunken cannon. In a few moments one of 
them rose above the water with a heavy lump of silver 
in his arms. The single lump was worth more than a 
thousand dollars. The sailors took it into the boat, and 
then rowed back as speedily as they could, being in haste 
to inform Captain Phipps of their good luck. 

But, confidently as the captain had hoped to find the 
Spanish wreck, yet, now that it was really found, the 
news seemed too good to be true. He could not believe 
it till the sailors showed him the himp of silver. 

" Thanks be to God ! " then cries Captain Phipps. 
" We shall every man of us make our fortunes ! " 

Hereupon the captain and all the crew set to work, 
with iron rakes and great hooks and lines, fishing for 
gold and silver at the bottom of the sea. Up came the 
treasure in abundance. Now they beheld a table of solid 
silver, once the property of an old Spanish grandee. Now 
they found a sacramental vessel, Avhich had been destined 
as a gift to some Catholic church. Now they drew up 



68 GRAXDFATHEr.'S CHAIR. 

a golden cup, fit for the king of Spain to drink liis wine 
out of. Perhaps the bony hand of its former owner had 
been grasping the precious cup, and was drawn up ah)ng 
with it. Now their rakes or fishing-lines were loaded 
•with masses of silver bullion. There were also precious 
stones among the treasure, glittering and sparkling, so 
that it is a wonder how their radiance could have been 
concealed. 

There is something sad and terrible in the idea of 
snatching all this wealth from the devouring ocean, which 
liad possessed it for such a length of years. It seems as 
if men had no right to make themselves rich with it. It 
ought to have been left with the skeletons of the ancient 
Spaniards, who had been drowned when the ship was 
wrecked, and whose bones were now scattered among the 
gold and silver. 

But Captain Phipps and liis crew were troubled with 
no such thoughts as these. After a day or two they 
lighted on another part of the wreck, where they found a 
great many bags of silver dollars. But nobody could 
have guessed tliat these were money-bags. By remain- 
ing so long in the salt water, they had become covered 
over with a crust which had the appearance of stone, so 
tliat it was necessary to break them in pieces with ham- 
mers and axes. When this was done, a stream of silver 
dollars gushed out upon the deck of the vessel. 

The whole value of the recovered treasure, plate, bull- 
ion, precious stones, and all, Avas estimated at more than 
two millions of dollars. It was dangerous even to look 
at such a vast amount of wealth. A sea-captain, who 
had assisted Phipps in the enterprise, utterly lost his rea- 
son at the sight of it. He died two years afterwards, 
still raving about the treasures that lie at the bottom of 
the sea. It. would have been better for this man if he had 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 69 

left the skeletons of tlie sLipwrecked Spaniards in quiet 
possession of their wealth. 

Captain Phipps and his men continued to fish up plate, 
bullion, and dollars, as plentifully as ever, till their pro- 
visions grew short. Then, as they could not feed upon 
gold and silver any more than old King Midas could, 
they found it necessary to go in search of better suste- 
nance. Phipps resolved to return to England. He ar- 
rived there in 16S7, and was received with great joy by 
the Duke of Albemarle and other English lords who had 
fitted out the vessel. Well they might rejoice ; for they 
took by far the greater part of the treasure to them- 
selves. 

The captain's share, however, was enough to make him 
comfortable for the rest of his days. It also enabled 
him to fulfil his promise to his wife, by building a " fair 
brick house " in the Green Lane of Boston. The Duke 
of Albemarle sent Mrs. Phipps a magnificent gold cup, 
worth at least five thousand dollars. Before Captain 
Phipps left London, King James made him a knight ; so 
that, instead of the obscure ship-carpenter who had for- 
merly dwelt among them, the inhabitants of Boston wel- 
comed him on his return as the rich and famous Sir 
William Phipps. 




CHAPTER XI. 




IR TV^LLIAM PHIPPS," continued Grand- 
father, " was too active and adventurons a man 
to sit still in the qniet enjoyment of his good 
fortune. In the year 1690 he went on a military expedi- 
tion against the French colonies in America, conquered 
the whole province of Acadia, and returned to Boston 
with a great deal of plunder." 

"Wliy, Grandfather, he was the greatest man that 
ever sat in the chair ! " cried Charley. 

"Ask Laurence what he thinks," replied Grandfather, 
with a smile. " Well, in the same year. Sir William 
took command of an expedition against Quebec, but did 
not succeed in capturing the city. In 1G92, being then 
in London, King William III. appointed him governor 
of Massachusetts. And now, my dear children, having 
followed Sir William Phipps through all his adventures 
and hardships till we find hin\ comfortably seated in 
Grandfather's chair, we will here bid him farewell. May 
lie be as happy in ruling a people as he was while he 
tended sheep ! " 

Charley, whose fancy had been greatly taken by the 
adventurous disposition of Sir William Phipps, was eager 
to know how he had acted and what happened to him 
■while he held the office of "rovernor. But Grandfather 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 71 

had made up liis mind to tell no more stories for tlie 
present. 

"Possibly, one of these days, I may go on with the 
adventures of the chair," said he. "But its history be- 
comes very obscure just at this point ; and I must search 
into some old books and manuscrii)ts before proceeding 
furtlier. Besides, it is now a good time to pause in our 
narrative ; because tiie new charter, which Sir William 
Pliipps brought over from England, formed a very impor- 
tant epoch in the history of the province." 

" Really, Grandfather," observed Laurence, " this 
seems to be the most remarkable chair in the world. Its 
liistory cannot be told without intertwining it with the 
lives of distinguished men and the great events that have 
befallen the country." 

" True, Laurence," replied Grandfather, smiling ; " we 
must write a book with some such title as this: Me- 
moirs OF MY OWN Times, by Grandfather's Chair." 

" That would be beautiful ! " exclannsd Laurence, 
clapping his hands. 

" But, after all," continued Grandfather, " any other 
old chair, if it possessed memory and a hand to write its 
recollections, could record stranger stories than any that 
I have told you. From generation to generation, a chair 
sits familiarly in the midst of human interests, and is wit- 
ness to the most secret and confidential intercourse that 
mortal man can hold witli his fellow. The human iieart 
may best be read in the fireside chair. And as to exter- 
nal events. Grief and Joy keep a continual vicissitude 
around it and within it. Now we see the glad face and 
glowing form of Joy, sitting merrily in the old chair, and 
throwing a warm firelight radiance over all the house- 
hold. Now, while we tliought not of it, the dark-clad 
mourner, Grief, has stolen into the place of Joy, but not 



72 GEANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 

to retain it long. The imagination can hardlj grasp so 
wide a subject as is embraced in tlie experience of a fam- 
ily chair." 

" It makes my breath flutter, my heart thrill, to think 
of it," said Laurence. " Yes, a family chair must have a 
deeper history than a chair of state." 

" O yes ! " cried Clara, expressing a woman's feeling 
on the point in question; "the history of a country is 
not nearly so interesting as that of a single family would 
be." 

" But the history of a country is more easily told," 
said Grandfather. " So, if we proceed with our narrative 
of the chair, I shall still confine myself to its connection 
with public events." 

Good old Grandfather now rose and quitted the room, 
while the children remained gazing at the chair. Lau- 
rence, so vivid was his conception of past times, would 
hardly have deemed it strange if its former occupants, 
one after another, had resumed the seat which they had 
each left vacant such a din] length of years ago. 

First, the gentle and lovely Lady Arbella would have 
been seen in the old chair, almost sinking out of its arms 
for very weakness ; then Koger Williams, in his cloak 
and band, earnest, energetic, and benevolent ; then the 
figure of xlnne Hutchinson, with the like gesture as when 
she presided at the assemblages of women ; then the dark, 
intellectual face of Vane, " young in years, but in sago 
counsel old." Next would have appeared the successive 
governors, Winthrop, Dudley, Bellingham, and Endicott, 
who sat in the chair while it was a chair of state. Then 
its ample seat would have been pressed by the comforta- 
ble, rotund corporation of the honest mint-master. Then 
the half- frenzied shape of Mary Dyer, the persecuted 
Quaker woman, clad in sackcloth and ashes, would have 



GEANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 73 

rested iii it for a moment. Then the holy, apostolic form 
of Eliot would have sanctitied it. Then would have 
arisen, like the shade of departed Puritanism, the veuer- 
ble dignity of the white-bearded Governor Bradstreet. 
Lastly, on the gorgeous crimson cushion of Grandfather's 
chair, would have shone the purple and golden magnifi- 
C3uce of Sir William Phipps. 

But all these, with the other historic personages, in 
the midst of whom the chair had so often stood, had 
passed, both in substance and shadow, from the scene of 
ages. Yet here stood the chair, with the old Lincoln 
coat of arms, and the oaken flowers and foliage, and the 
fierce lion's head at the summit, the whole, apparently, in 
as perfect preservation as when it had first been placed 
in the Earl of Lincoln's hall. And what vast changes of 
society and of nations had been wrought by sudden con- 
vulsions or by slow degrees since that era ! 

" This chair had stood firm when the thrones of kings 
were overturned ! " thought Laurence. " Its oaken frame 
lias proved stronger than many frames of government ! " 

More the thoughtful and imaginative boy might have 
mused ; but now a large yellow cat, a great favorite with 
all the children, leaped in at the open window. Per- 
ceiving that Grandfather's chair was empty, and having 
often before experienced its comforts, puss laid herself 
quietly down upon the cushion. Laurence, Clara, Char- 
ley, and little Alice all laughed at the idea of such a suc- 
cessor to the worthies of old times. 

" Pussy," said little Alice, putting out her hand, into 
which the cat laid a velvet paw, " you look very wise. 
Do tell us a story about GiiANDrATHEn's Chair 1 " 



GEANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 



PART II. 



CHAPTEE I. 




m 



GRANDFATHER, dear Giandfatlier," cried 
iw>\/'«| little Alice, " pray tell us some more stories 
\\ljr:i, about ,your cliair ! " 

How loug a time had fled since tlie cliildren had felt 
any curiosity to hear the sequel of this venerable chair's 
adventures! Summer was now past and gone, and the 
better part of autumn likewise. Dreary, chill November 
was howling out of doors, and vexing the atmosphere 
with sudden sliowers of wintry rain, or sometimes with 
gusts of snow, that rattled like small pebbles against the 
windows. 

When the weather began to grow cool, Grandfather's 
chair liad been removed from the summer parlor into a 
smaller and snugger room. It now stood by the side of 
a bright, blazing, wood-fire. Grandfather loved a wood- 
fire far better tlian a grate of glowing anthracite, or than 
the dull heat of an invisible furnace, which seems to think 
that it has done its duty in merely warming the house. 
But the wood fire is a kindly, cheerful, sociable spirit, 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 75 

syrapatliizlng with mankind, and knowing tliaf. to create 
warmth is but one of the good offices which are expected 
from it. Tlierefore it dances on the hearth, and laughs 
broadly through the room, and plays a thousand antics, 
and throws a joyous glow over all the faces that encir- 
cle it. 

In the twilight of the evening the fire grew brighter 
and more cheerful. And thus, perhaps, there was some- 
thing in Grandfather's heart that cheered him most with, 
its warmth and comfort in the gathering twilight of 
old age. He had been gazing at the red embers as in- 
tently as if his past life were all pictured there, or as if 
it were a prospect of the future world, when little Alice's 
voice aroused him. "Dear Grandfather," repeated the 
little girl, more earnestly, " do talk to us again about 
your chair." 

Laurence, and Clara, and Charley, and little Alice had 
been attracted to other objects for two or three months 
past. They had sported in the gladsome sunshine of the 
present, and so had forgotten the shadowy region of the 
past, in the midst of which stood Grandfather's chair. 
But now, in the autumnal twilight, illuminated by the 
flickering blaze of the wood-fire, they looked at the old 
chair, and thought that it had never before worn such an 
interesting aspect. There it stood in the venerable maj- 
esty of more than two hundred years. The light from 
the hearth quivered upon the flowers and foliage that 
were wrought into its oaken back ; and the lion's head 
at the summit seemed almost to move its jaws and shake 
its mane. 

" Does little Alice speak for all of you ? " asked Grand- 
father. " Do you wisii me to go on with the adventures 
of the chair ? " 

" yes, yes, Grandfather ! " cried Clara. " The dear 



76 GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 

old cliair ! How strange that we should liave forgotten 
it so long ! " 

" O, pray begin, Grandfather," said Laurence ; " for I 
think, when we talk about old times, it should be in the 
early evening, before the candles are lighted. The sliapes 
of the famous persons who once sat in the chair will be 
more apt to come back, and be seen among us ; in this 
glimmer and pleasant gloom, than they would in the vul- 
gar daylight. And, besides, we can make pictures of 
all that you tell us among the glowing embers and while 
ashes." 

Our friend Charley, too, thought the evening the best 
time to hear Grandfather's stories, because he could not 
then be playing out of doors. So finding his young au- 
ditors unanimous in their petition, the good old gentle- 
man took up the narrative of the historic chair at the 
point where he had dropped it. 




CHAPTER II. 




OU recollect, mj dear children/' said Grand- 
father, " that we took leave of the chair in 
l(\d2, while it was occupied by Sir William 
Pliipijs. This fortunate treasure-seeker, you will remem- 
ber, iiad come over from England, with King William's 
commission, to be governor of Massachusetts. Within 
the limits of this province were now included the old 
colony of Plymouth and the territories of Maine and 
Nova Scotia. Sir William Phipps had likewise brought 
a new charter from the king, which served instead of a 
constitution, and set forth the method in which the 
province was to be governed." 

" Did the new charter allow the people all their former 
liberties? " inquired Laurence. 

" No," replied Grandfather. " Under the first char- 
ter, the people had been the source of all power. Win- 
throp, Endicott, Bradstreet, and the rest of them had 
been governors by the choice of the people, without any 
interference of the king. But henceforth the governor 
was to hold his station solely by the king's appointment 
and during his pleasure ; and the same was the case with 
the lieutenant-governor and some other high officers. 
The people, however, were still allowed to choose repre- 
sentatives ; and the governor's council was chosen by 
the General Court." 



78 GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 

"Would the iiiliabilants have elected Sir William 
Pliipps," asked Laurence, " if the choice of governor 
had been left to them?" 

" He might probably have been a successful candi- 
date," answered Grandfather; "for his adventures and 
military enterprises had gaiued him a sort of renown, 
which always goes a great way with the people. And he 
had many popular characteristics, being a kind, warm- 
hearted man, not ashamed of his low origin, nor haughty 
in his present elevation. Soon after his arrival, he 
proved that he did not blush to recognize his former as- 
sociates." 

" How was that ? " inquired Charley. 

" He made a grand festival at his new brick house," 
said Grandfather, " and invited all the ship-carpenters of 
Boston to be his guests. At the head of the table, in 
our great chair, sat Sir William Phipps himself, treating 
these hard-handed men as his brethren, cracking jokes 
with them, and talking familiarly about old times. I 
know not whether he wore his embroidered dress ; but I 
rather choose to imagine that he had on a suit of rough 
clothes, such as he used to labor in while he was Phi])ps 
the ship-carpenter." 

"An aristocrat need not be ashamed of the trade," ob- 
served Laurence; "for the Czar Peter the Great once 
served an apprenticeship to it." 

"Did Sir William Phipps make as good a governor as 
he was a siiip-carpenter ? " asked Charley. 

" History says but little about his merits as a ship-car- 
penter," answered Grandfather; "but, as a governor, a 
great deal of fault was found with him. Almost as soon 
as he assumed the government, he became engaged in a 
very frightful business, which might have ])eri)lexed a 
wiser and better cultivated head than his. This was the 
witchcraft delusion." 



GRANDFATIIEE'S CHAIR. 79 

And here Grandfather gave his auditors such details of 
this mehmcholy affair as he tliought it fit for them to 
know. They shuddered to hear that a frenzy, which led 
to the death of many innocent persons, had originated in 
the wicked arts of a few children. They belonged to ths 
Hev. Mr. Parris, minister of Salem, These children 
complained of being pinched and pricked with pins, and 
otherwise tormented by the shapes of men and women, 
who were supposed to have power to haunt them iuvisi- 
bly, both in darkness and daylight. Often in the midst 
of their ftimily and friends the children would pretend to 
be seized witii strange convulsions, and would cry out 
that the witches were afflicting them. 

These stories spread abroad, aud caused great tumult 
and alarm. From the fouudation of New England, it 
had been the custom of the inhabitants, in all matters of 
doubt and diiSculty, to look to their ministers for couu- 
sel. So they did now ; but, unfortunately, the ministers 
and wise men were more deluded than tlie illiterate peo- 
ple. Cotton Mather, a very learned and eminent clergy- 
man, believed that the whole country was full of witches 
and wizards, who had given up their hopes of heaven, and 
signed a covenant with the evil one. 

Nobody could be certain that his nearest neighbor or 
most intimate friend was not guilty of this imaginary 
crime. The number of those who pretended to be af- 
flicted by witchcraft grew daily more numerous; and 
thay bore testimony against many of the best and worthi- 
est people. A minister, named George Burroughs, was 
among tlie accused. In the months of August aud Sep- 
tember, 1692, he and nineteen other innocent men and 
women were put to death. The place of execution was a 
high hill, on the outskirts of Salem ; so that many of the 
sufferers, as they stood beneath the gallows, could dis- 
cern their own habitations in the town. 



80 GEAXDFATIIEIl'S CHAIR. 

The martyrdom of these guiltless persons seemed only 
to increase the madness. The afflicted now grew bolder 
in their accusations. Many people of rank and wealth 
were either thrown into prison or compelled to flee for 
their lives. Among these were two sons of old Simon 
Bradstreet, the last of the Puritan governors. Mr. Wil- 
lard, a pious minister of Boston, was cried out upon as a 
wizard in open court. Mrs. Hale, the wife of the minis- 
ter of Beverly, was likewise accused. Phihp English, a 
rich merchant of Salem, found it necessary to take flight, 
leaving his property and business in confusion. But a 
short time afterwards, the Salem people were glad to in- 
vite him back. 

" The boldest thing that the accusers did," continued 
Grandfather, "was to cry out against the governor's own 
beloved wife. Yes, the lady of Sir William Phipps was 
accused of being a witch and of flying through the air to 
attend witch-meetings. When tlie governor heard this 
he ])robably trembled, so that our great chair shook be- 
neath him." 

" Dear Grandfather," cried little Alice, clinging closer 
to his knee, "is it true that witches ever come in the 
night-time to frighten little children?" 

"No, no, dear little Alice," replied Grandfather. 
" Even if there were any witches, they would flee away 
from the presence of a pure-hearted cluld. But there are 
none ; and onr forefathers soon became convinced that 
they had been led into a terrible delusion. All the pris- 
oners on account of witchcraft were set free. But the 
innocent dead could not be restored to Hfe ; and the hill 
where they were executed will always remind people of 
the saddest and most humiliating passage in our history." 

Grandfather then said that the next remarkable event, 
while Sir William Phipps remained in the chair, was the 



II 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 81 

arrival at Boston of an English fleet in 1693. It brought 
ail army which was intended for the conquest of Canada. 
But a malignant disease, more fatal than the small-pox, 
broke out among the soldiers and sailors, and destroyed 
the greater part of them. The infection spread into the 
town of Boston, and made much havoc there. This dread- 
ful sickness caused the governor and Sir Francis Wheeler, 
who was commander of the British forces, to give up all 
thoughts of attacking Canada. 

"Soon after this," said Grandfather, "Sir William 
Pliipps quarrelled with the captain of an Enghsh frigate, 
and also with the collector of Boston. Being a man of vio- 
lent temper, he gave each of them a sound beating with 
his cane." 

" He was a bold fellow," observed Charley, who was 
himself somewhat addicted to a similar mode of settling 
disputes. 

"More bold than wise," replied Grandfather; "for 
complaints were carried to the king, and Sir William 
Phipps was summoned to England to make the best an- 
swer he coujil,^^^ Accordingly he went to London, wliere, 
in 1695, he was seized with a malignant fever, of which 
he died. Had he lived longer, he would probably have 
gme again in search of sunken treasure. He had heard 
of a Spanish ship, which was cast away in 1502, during 
the lifetime of Columbus. Bovadilla, Boldau, and many 
other Spaniards were lost in her, together with the im- 
mense wealth of which they had robbed the South Amer- 
ican kings." 

"Why, Grandfather!" exclaimed Laurence, "what 
magnificent ideas the governor had ! Only think of re- 
covering all that old treasure which had lain almost two 
centuries under the sea ! Methinks Sir William Pliipps 
ought to have been buried in the ocean when he died, so 

4 * F 



82 GRANDFATHEU'S CHAIR. 

that lie might have gone down among the sunken ships 
and cargoes of treasure which he was always dreaming 
about in his lifetime," 

" He was buried in one of the crowded cemeteries of 
London," said Grandfather. " As he left no children, his 
estate was inherited by his nephew, from whom is de- 
scended the present Marquis of Normanby. The noble 
Marquis is not aware, perhaps, that the prosperity of his 
family originated in the successful enterprise of a New 
England ship-carpenter." 



II 




CHAPTEH IIT 




» 



T tlie death of Sir William Phipps," proceeded 
Grandfather, " our chair was bequeatlied to Mr. 
Ezekiel Cheever, a famous schoolmaster in Bos- 
ton. This old gentleman came from London in 1637, 
and had been teaching school ever since ; so that tiiere 
were now aged men, grandfathers like myself, to wliom 
Master Cheever had tauglit their alphabet. He was a per- 
son of venerable aspect, and wore a long white beard." 

" Was the chair placed in his school? " asked Charley. 

" Yes, in liis school," answered Grandfather ; " and we 
may safely say that it had never before been regarded 
with such awful reverence, — ■ no, not even when the old 
governors of Massachusetts sat in it. Even you, Char- 
ley, my boy, would have felt some respect for the chair if 
you had seen it occupied by this famous schoolmaster." 

And here Grandfather endeavored to give his auditors 
an idea how matters were managed in schools above a 
hundred years ago. As this will probably be an inter- 
esting subject to our readers, we shall make a separate 
sketch of it, and call it 



THE 0LD-7ASHI0KED SCHOOL. 

Now, imagine yourselves, my children, in Master Eze- 
kiel Cheever's school-room. It is a large, dingy room, 



84 GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 

with a sanded floor, and is lighted by windows that turn 
on hinges and have Utile diamond-shaped panes of glass. 
The scholars sit on long benches, with desks before them. 
At one end of the room is a great fireplace, so very spa- 
cious that there is room enough for three or four boys to 
stand in each of the chimney-corners. This was the good 
old fashion of fireplaces when there was wood enough in 
the forests to keep people warm without their digging into 
the bowels of the earth for coal. 

It is a winter's day when we take our peep into the 
scliool-room. See what great logs of wood have been 
rolled into the fii-eplace, and what a broad, bright blaze 
goes leaping up the chimney ! And every few moments 
a vast cloud of smoke is puffed into the room, which sails 
slowly over the heads of the scholars, until it gradually 
settles upon the walls and ceiling. They are blackened 
with the smoke of many years already. 

Next look at our old historic chair ! It is placed, you 
perceive, in the most comfortable part of the room, where 
the generous glow of the fire is sufficiently felt without 
being too intensely hot. How stately the old chair looks, 
as if it remembered its many famous occupants, but yet 
were conscious that a greater man is sitting in it now ! 
Do you see the venerable schoolmaster, severe in aspect, 
witli a black skullcap oii his head, like an ancient Puri- 
tan, and the snow of his white beard drifting down to 
Ins very girdle ? What boy would dare to play, or whis- 
per, or even glance aside from his book, while Master 
Cheever is on the lookout behind his spectacles ? For 
such offenders, if any such there be, a rod of birch is 
lianging over the fireplace, and a heavy ferule lies on the 
master's desk. 

And now school is begun. Wliat a murmur of multi- 
tudinous tongues, like tlie whispering leaves of a wind- 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 85 

stirred oak, as tlie scholars con over llieir various tasks ! 
Buzz ! buzz ! buzz ! Amid just sucli a murmur has 
Master Cheever speut above sixty years ; and long habit 
has made it as pleasant to him as the hum of a beehive 
wiien the insects are busy in the sunshine. 

Now a class in Latin is called to recite. Eorth steps a 
row of queer-looking little fellows, wearing square-skirted 
coats and small-clothes, with buttons at the knee. They 
look like so many grandfathers in their second childhood. 
Thsse lads are to be sent to Cambridge and educated for 
the learned professions. Old Master Cheever has lived 
so long, and seen so many generations of school-boys 
grow up to be men, that now he can almost prophesy 
what sort of a man each boy will be. One urchin shall 
hereafter be a doctor, and administer pills and potions, 
and stalk gravely through life, perfumed with assafoetida. 
Auother shall wrangle at the bar, and fight his way to 
wealth and honors, and, in his declining ag3, shall be a 
worshipful member of his Majesty's council. A third — 
and he is the master's favorite — shall be a worthy suc- 
cessor to the old Puritan ministers now in their graves ; 
he shall preach with great unction and effect, and leave 
volumes of sermons, in print and manuscript, for the ben- 
efit of future generations. 

But, as they are merely school-boys now, their busi- 
ness is to construe Vii-gil. Poor Virgil ! whose verses, 
which he took so much pains to polish, have been mis- 
scanned, and misparsed, and misinterpreted by so many 
generations of idle school-boys. There, sit down, ye Lat- 
inists. Two or three of you, I fear, are doomed to feel 
the master's ferule. 

Next comes a class in arithmetic. These boys are to 
be the merchants, shopkeepers, and mechanics of a fu- 
ture period. Hitherto they have traded only in marbles 



86 

and apples. Hereafter some will send vessels to England 
for broadcloths and all sorts of manufactured wares, and 
to the West Indies for sugar, and rum, and coffee. 
Others will stand beliind counters, and measure tape, 
and ribbon, and cambric by the yard. Others will up- 
lieave the blacksmith's hammer, or drive the plane over 
the carpenter's bench, or take the lapstone and the awl 
and learn the trade of slioemaking. Many will follow 
the sea, and become bold, rough sea-captains. 

This class of boys, in short, must supply the world 
with those active, skilful hands, and clear, sagacious 
heads, without which the affairs of life would be thrown 
into confusion by the theories of studious and visionary 
men. Wherefore, teach them their niul(iplication-tai)le, 
good Master Cheever, and whip them well when they 
deserve it ; for much of the country's welfare depends 
on these boys. 

But, alas ! while we have been thinking of other mat- 
ters, Master Cheever's watchful eye has caught two boys 
at play. Now we shall see awful times. The two male^ 
factors are summoned before the master's chair, whereiii 
he sits with the terror of a judge upon his brow. Our 
old chair is now a judgment-seat. Ah, Master Cheever 
has taken down that terrible birch rod ! Short is the 
trial, — the sentence quickly passed, — and now the judge 
prepares to execute it in person. Thwack! thwack! 
thwack ! In tiicse good old times, a schoolmaster's 
blows were well laid on. ' 

See, the birch rod has lost several of its twigs, and 
will hardly serve for another execution. Mercy on 
us, what a bellowing the urchins make ! My ears are 
almost deafened, though the clamor comes through the 
far length of a hundred and fifty years. There, go to 
your seats, poor boys ; and do not cry, sweet little 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 87 

Alice, for they have ceased to feel the pain a long time 
since. 

And tlius the forenoon passes away. Now it is twelve 
o'clock. The master looks at his great silver watch, and 
then, with tiresome deUberation, puts the ferule into his 
d^sk. The little multitude await tlie word of dismissal 
with almost irrepressible impatience. 

" You are dismissed," says Master Cheever. 

The boys retire, treading softly until they have passed 
the thresliold; but, fairly out of the school-room, lo-, 
■what a joyous shout ! what a scampering and trampling 
of feet ! what a sense of recovered freedom expressed 
in the merry uproar of all their voices ! What care 
they for the ferule and birch rod now ? Were boys 
created merely to study Latin and arithmetic ? No ; 
the better purposes of their being are to sport, to 
leap, to run, to shout, to slide upon the ice, to snow- 
ball. 

Happy boys ! Enjoy your playtime now, and come 
again to study and to feel the birch rod and the ferule 
to-morrow ; not till to-morrow ; for to-day is Thursday 
lecture ; and, ever since the settlement of Massachusetts, 
there has been no school on Thursday afternoons. There- 
fore sport, boys, while you may, for the morrow comet h, 
with the birch rod and the ferule ; and after that another 
morrow, with troubles of its own. 

Now the master has set everything to rights, and is 
ready to go home to dinner. Yet he goes reluctantly. 
The old man has spent so much of his life in the smoky, 
noisy, buzzing school-room, that, when he has a holiday, 
he feels as if his place were lost and himself a stranger 
in the world. But forth he goes ; and there stands our 
old chair, vacant and solitary, till good Master Cheever 
resumes his seat in it to-morrow morniuG:. 



88 GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 

" Grandfather," said Cbarlev, " I ironder wLetLer tbe 
boys did not use to upset the old chair when the school- 
master \ras out." 

" There is a tradition,'* replied Grandfather, '•' that one 
of its arms was dislocated in some such niauoer. But I 
cannot believe that anv school-boy would behave so 
naughtily." 

As it was now later than little Alice's usual bedtime. 
Grandfather brolie off his narrative, promising to talk 
more about Master Cheever and his scholars some other 




1^^ 



CHxVPTEE lY. 




CCORDINGLY, tlie next evening, Grandfatlier 
resumed tlie history of his beloved chair. • 
" Master Ezekiel Cheever," said he, " died 
ill 1707, after liaving taught school about seventy years. 
It would require a pretty good scholar in arithmetic to 
tell how many stripes he had inflicted, and how many 
birch rods he had worn out, during all that time, in his 
fatherly tenderness for his pupils. Almost all the great 
nieu of that period, and for many years back, had been 
whipped into eminence by Master Cheever. Moreover, 
he had written a Latin Accidence, which was used in 
schools more than half a century after his death ; so 
that the good old man, even in his grave, was still the 
cause of trouble and stripes to idle school-boys." 

Grandfather proceeded to say, that, when Master 
Ciieever died, he bequeathed the chair to the most 
learned man that was educated at his school, or that had 
ever been born in America, This w-as the renowned 
Cotton Mather, minister of the Old North Church in 
Boston. 

"And author of the Magnalia, Grandfather, which we 
sometimes see you reading," said Laurence. 

"Yes, Laurence," replied Grandfather, "The Mag- 
nalia is a strange, pedantic history, in which true events 



90 GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 

and real personages move before llie reader with the 
dreamy aspect which they wore in Cotton Matlier's sin- 
gular mind. This huge volume, however,- was written 
and published before our chair came into his possession. 
But, as he was the author of more books than there are 
days in the year, we may conclude that he wrote a great 
deal while sitting in this chair." 

"I am tired of these schoolmasters and learned men," 
said Charley. " I wish some stirring man, that knew 
liow to do something in the world, like Sir ^Yilliam 
Phipps, would sit in the chair." 

" Such men seldom have leisure to sit quietly in a 
chair," said Grandfather. " We must make the best of 
such people as we have." 

As Cotton Mather was a very distinguished man, 
Grandfather took some pains txD give the children a lively 
conception of his character. Over the door of his li- 
brary were painted these words, be short, — as a warn- 
ing to visitors that they must not do tlie world so much 
liarm as needlessly to interrupt this great man's wonder- 
ful labors. On entering the room you would probably 
])ehold it crowded, and piled, and heaped with books. 
There were huge, ponderous folios, and quartos, and 
little duodecimos, in English, Latin, Greek, Hebrew, 
Chaldaic, and all other languages that either originated 
at the confusion of Babel or have since come into use. 

All these books, no doubt, were tossed about in confu- 
sion, thus forming a visible emblem of the manner in 
which their contents were crowded into Cotton Mather's 
brain. And in the middle of the room stood a table, on 
which, besides printed volumes, were strewn manuscript 
sermons, historical tiacts, and political pamphlets, all 
written in such a queer, blind, crabbed, fantastical hand, 
that a writin"--master would have gone raving mad at 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 91 

tlie siglit of tliem. By iliis table stood Grandfather's 
cliair, which seemed ah-eady to have contracted an air of 
daep erudition, as if its cushion were stuffed with Latin, 
Greek, and Hebrew, and other hard matters. 

In this chair, from one year's end to another, sat that 
prodigious bookworm. Cotton Mather, sometimes devour- 
ing a great book, and sometimes scribbling one as big. 
In Grandfather's younger days there used to be a wax 
figure of him in one of the Boston museums, represent- 
ing a solemn, dark-visaged person, in a minister's black 
gown, and with a black-letter volume before him. 

" It is difficult, my children," observed Grandfather, 
"to make you understand such a character as Cotton 
Mather's, in whom there was so much good, and yet so 
many failings and frailties. Undoubtedly he was a j)ious 
man. Often he kept fasts ; and once, for three whole 
days, he allowed himself not a morsel of food, but spent 
the time in prayer and religious meditation. Many a live- 
long night did he watch and pray. These fasts and vigils 
made him meagre and haggard, and probably caused him 
to appear as if he hardly belonged to the world." 

"Was not the witchcraft delusion partly caused by 
Cotton Mather? " inquired Laurence. 

*' He was the chief agent of the mischief," answered 
Grandfather ; " but we will not suppose tliat he acted 
otherwise than conscientiously. He believed that there 
were evil spirits all about the world. Doubtless he im- 
agined that they were hidden in the corners and crevices 
of his library, and that they peeped out from among the 
leaves of many of his books, as he turned them over, at 
midnight. He supposed that these unlovely demons were 
everywhere, in the sunshine as well as in the darkness, 
and that they were hidden in men's hearts, and stole into 
their most secret thouerhts." 



92 GIIANDFATIIEE,'S CHAIR. 

Here Grandfatlier was interrupted hv little Alice, Avlio 
hid her face in his lap, and niurniiired a wish that he 
would not talk any more about Cotton Mather and tlie 
evil spirits. Grandfather kissed her, and told her that 
auf^els were the only spirits whom she had anything to 
do with. He then spoke of tlie public affairs of the pe- 
riod. 

A new war between France and England had broken 
out in 1702, and had been raging ever since. In the 
course of it. New England suifered much injury from the 
Erench and Indians, who often came tlirough the woods 
from Canada and assaulted tlie frontier towns. Villages 
Avere sometimes burned, and the inhabitants slaughtered, 
within a day's ride of Boston. The people of New Eng- 
land had a bitter hatred ag;iinst tlie Erench, not only for 
the mischief which they did with their own hands, but 
because they incited the Indians to hostility. 

The New-Euglanders knew that they could never dwell 
in security until the provinces of Erance should be sub- 
dued and brought under the English government. They 
frequently, in time of war, undertook military expeditions 
against Acadia and Canada, and sometimes besieged the 
fortresses by which those territories were defended. But 
the most earnest wish of their hearts was to take Quebec, 
and so get possession of the whole Province of Canada. 
Sir William Phipps had once attempted it, but without 
success. 

Elects and soldiers were often sent from England to 
assist the colonists in their warlike undertakings. In 
1710 Port Royal, a fortress of Acadia, was taken by the 
English. The next year, in the month of June, a fleet, 
commanded by Admiral Sir Hovenden Walker, arrived 
ill Boston Harbor. On board of this fleet was the Eng- 
lish General Hill, with seven regiments of soldiers, who 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 93 

had been figliting under the Duke of Marlborougli in 
Flanders. The government of Massachusetts was called 
upon to find provisions for the army and fleet, and to 
raise more men to assist in taking Cauada. 

What with recruiting and drilling of soldiers, there 
was now nothing but warlike bustle in the streets of 
Boston. The drum and tit'e, the rattle of arms, and the 
shouts of boys were heard from morning till night. In 
a' )ut a mouth the fleet set sail, carrying four regiments 
from New England and New York, besides the English 
soldiers. . The whole army amounted to at least seven 
thousand men. They steered for the mouth of the river 
St. Lawrence. 

" Cotton Mather prayed most fervently for their suc- 
cess," continued Grandfather, " both in his pulpit and 
when he kneeled down in the solitude of his library, rest- 
ing his face on our old chair. But Providence ordered 
the result otherwise. In a few weeks tidings were re- 
ceived that eight or nine of the vessels had been wrecked 
in the St. Lawrence, and that above a thousand drowned 
soldiers had been washed ashore on the banks of that 
mighty river. After this misfortune Sir Hovenden 
Walker set sail for England ; and many pious people 
began to think it a sin even to wish for the conquest of 
Canada." 

" I would never give it up so," cried Charley. 

"Nor did they, as we shall see," replied Grandfather. 
" However, no more attempts were made during this war, 
which came to a close in 1713. The people of New Eng- 
land were probably glad of some repose ; for their young 
men had been made soldiers, till many of them were fit 
for nothing else. And those who remained at home had 
been heavily taxed to pay for the arms, ammunition, for- 
tifications, and all the other endless expenses of a war. 



94 GEANDFATIIER'S CHAIR. 

There was great need of tlie prayers of Cotton Maflier 
and of all pious men, not only on account of the suffer- 
ings of the people, but because the old moral and relig- 
ious character of New England was in danger of being 
utterly lost." 

" How^ glorious it would have been," remarked Lau- 
rence, "if our forefathers could have kept the country 
unspotted with blood ! " 

" Yes," said Grandfather ; " but there was a stern, war- 
like spirit in them from the beginning. They seem never 
to have thought of questioning either the morality or 
piety of war." 

The next event which Grandfather spoke of was one 
that Cotton Mather, as well as most of the other inhabi- 
tants of New England, heartily rejoiced at. This was the 
accession of the Elector of Hanover to the throne of Eng- 
land, in 1714, on the death of Queen Anne. Hitherto the 
people had been in continual dread that the male line of 
the Stuarts, who were descended from the beheaded King 
Charles and the banished King James, would be restored 
to the throne. In that case, as the Stuart family were 
Roman Catholics, it was supposed that they would at- 
tempt to establish their own religion throughout the Brit- 
ish dominions. But the Elector of Hanover and all his 
race were Protestants ; so that now the descendants of 
the old Puritans were relieved from many fears and dis- 
quietudes. 

"The importance of this event," observed Grandfather, 
" was a thousand times greater than that of a Presidential 
election in our own days. If the people dislike their 
President, they may get rid of him in four years ; whereas 
a dynasty of kings may wear the crown for an unlimited 
period." 

The German elector was proclaimed king from the bal- 



GEANDFATIIER'S CHAIR. 



95 



cony of the town-house in Boston, by tlie title of George 
I. ; while the trumpets sounded, and the people cried 
amen. That night the town was illuminated ; and Cot- 
ton Mather threw aside book and pen, and left Grand- 
father's chair vacant, while he walked hither and thither 
to witness the rejoiciugs. 




CHAPTER V. 




iOTTON MATHER," continued Grandfallier, 
"was a bitter enemy to Governor Dudley; and 
nobody exulted more than he when that crafty 
politician was removed i'rom the government, and suc- 
ceeded by Colonel Shute. This took place in 171G. 
The new governor liad been an officer in the renowned 
Duke of Marlborough's army, and had fought in some of 
the great battles in Elanders." 

"Now I hope," said Charley, "we shall hear of his 
doing great things." 

" I am afraid you will be disappointed, Charlc}'," an- 
swered Grandfather. '"It is true that Colonel Shute 
had probably never led so unquiet a life while fighting 
the Ereucli as he did now, while governing this province 
of Massachusetts Bay. But his troubles consisted al- 
most entirely of dissensions with the Legislature. The 
kiug had ordered him to lay claim to a fixed salary ; but 
the representatives of the people insisted upon paying 
him only such sums from year to year as they saw fit." 

Grandfather here explained some of the circumstances 
that made the situation of a colonial governor so difficult 
and irksome. There was not the same feeling towards 
the chief magistrate now that had existed while he w^as 
chosen by the free suffrages of the people. It was felt 



GRANDFATHEE'S CHAIR. 97 

that as the king appointed the governor, and as he held 
his otfice during the king's pleasure, it would be his 
great object to please the king. But the people thought 
that a governor ought to have nothing in view but tlie 
best interests of those whom he governed. 

"The governor," remarked Grandfather, "had two 
masters to serve, — the king, who appointed him; and 
the people, on whom he depended for his pay. Few 
men in this position would have ingenuity enough to 
satisfy either party. Colonel Shute, though a good- 
natured, well-meaning man, succeeded so ill with the 
people, that, in 1722, he suddenly went away to Eng- 
land and made complaint to King George. In the mean 
time Lieutenant-Governor Dummer directed tlie affairs 
of the province, and carried on a long and bloody war 
witli the Indians." 

"But where was our chair all this time?" asked 
Clara. 

"It still remained in Cotton Mather's library," replied 
Grandfather; " and I must not omit to tell you an inci- 
dent which is very mucli to the honor of this celebrated 
man. It is the more proper, too, that you should hear 
it, because it will show yon what a terrible calamity the 
small-pox was to our forefathers. Tlie history of the 
province (and, of course, the history of our chair) would 
be incomplete without particular mention of it." 

Accordingly Grandfather told the children a story, to 
which, for want of a better title, we shall give that of 

THE REJECTED BLESSING. 

One day, in 1721, Doctor Cotton Matlier sat in his 
library reading a book that had been published by tlie 
Royal Society of London. But every few moments he 

5 G 



98 grandfather's chair. 

laid the book upon the table, and leaned back in Grand- 
father's chair witli an aspect of deep care and disquietude. 
Tiiere were certain things which troubled him exceed- 
ingly, so that he could hardly fix his thoughts upon what 
he read. 

It was now a gloomy time in Boston. That terrible 
disease, the small-pox, had recently made its appearance 
in the town. Ever since the first settlement of the coun- 
try this awful pestilence had come, at intervals, and 
swept away multitudes of the inhabitants. Whenever it 
commenced its ravages, nothing seemed to stay its pro- 
gress until there were no more victims for it to seize 
upon. Oftentimes hundreds of people at once lay groan- 
ing with its agony ; and when it departed, its deep foot- 
steps were always to be traced in many graves. 

The people never felt secure from this calamity. 
Sometimes, perhaps, it was brought into the country by 
a poor sailor, who had caught the infection in foreign 
parts, and came hither to die and to be the cause of 
many deaths. Sometimes, no doubt, it followed in ihe 
train of the pompous governors when they came over 
from England. Sometimes tlie disease lay hidden in the 
cargoes of ships, among silks, and brocades, and other 
costly merchandise which was imported for the rich peo- 
ple to wear. And sometimes it started up seemingly of 
its own accord, and nobody could tell whence it came. 
The physician, being called to attend the sick person, 
M^ould look at him, and say, " It is the small-pox ! Let 
the patient be carried to the hospital." 

And now this dreadful sickness had shown itself again 
in Boston. Cotton Mather was greatly afflicted for the 
sake of the whole province. He had children, too, who 
were exposed to the danger. At that very moment he 
heard tiie voice of his youngest son, for whom his heart 
was moved with apprehension. 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 99 

"Alas ! I fear for that poor cliild," said Cotton Mather 
to himself. "What shall I do for my son Samuel ? " 

Again he attempted to drive away these thoughts by 
taking up the book which he had been reading. And 
now, all of a sudden, his attention became fixed. The 
book contained a printed letter that an Italian physician 
liad written upon the very subject about which Cotton 
Matlier was so anxiously meditating. He ran his eye 
eagerly over the pages ; and, behold ! a method was dis- 
closed to him by which the small-pox might be robbed of 
its worst terrors. Such a method was known in Greece. 
The physicians of Turkey, too, those long-bearded Eastern 
sages, had been acquainted with it for many years. The 
negroes of Africa, ignorant as they were, had likewise 
practised it, and thus had shown themselves wiser than 
the white men. 

"Of a truth," ejaculated Cotton Mather, clasping his 
liands and looking up to heaven, " it was a merciful 
Providence that brought this book under mine eye. I 
will procure a consultation of physicians, and see whether 
this wondrous inoculation may not stay the progress of 
the destroyer." 

So he arose from Grandfatlier's chair and went out 
of tlie library. Near the door he met his son Samuel, 
Avho seemed downcast and out of spirits. Tlie boy had 
heard, probably, that some of his playmates were taken 
ill with the small-pox. But, as his father looked cheer- 
fully at liim, Samuel took "courage, trusting that either 
the wisdom of so learned a minister would find some 
remedy for the danger, or else that his prayers would 
secure protection from on high. 

Meanwhile Cotton Mather took his staff and three- 
cornered hat and walked about the streets, calling at the 
houses of all the physicians in Boston. They were a 



100 GIlA:^'D^ATHER'S CHAIR. 

very wise fraternity ; and their Imge wigs, and black 
dresses, and solemn visages made their wisdom ap])ear 
even pro founder than it was. One after another he 
acquainted them with the discovery which he had hit 
upon. 

But the grave and sagacious personages would scarcely 
listen to him. The oldest doctor in town contented him- 
self with remarking that no such thing as inoculation 
was mentioned by Galen or Hippocrates ; and it was 
impossible that modern physicians should be wiser than 
those old sages. A second held up his hands in dumb 
astonishment and horror at the madness of what Cotton 
Mather proposed to do. A third told him, in pretty 
plain terms, that he knew not what he was talking about. 
A fourth requested, in the name of the whole medical 
fraternity, that Cotton Mather would confine his atten- 
tion to people's souls, and leave the physicians to take 
care of their bodies. 

In short, there was but a single doctor among them 
all who would grant the poor minister so much as a 
patient hearing. This was Doctor Zabdiel Boylston. 
He looked into the matter like a man of sense, and find- 
ing, beyond a donbt, that inoculation h?d rescued many 
from death, he resolved to try the experiment in his own 
family. 

Aiul so he did. But when the other physicians heard 
of it they arose in great fury and began a war of words, 
written, printed, and spoken,' against Cotton Mather and 
Doctor Boylston. To hear them talk, you would have 
snpposed that these two harmless and benevolent men 
had plotted the ruin of the country. 

Tiie people, also, took the alarm. Many, who thought 
themselves more pious than their neighbors, contended 
that, if Providence had ordained them to die of the small- 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 101 

pox, it was sinful to aim at preventing it. The strangest 
reports were in circulation. Some said tliat Doctor 
Boylston had contrived a method for conveying the gout, 
rheumatism, sick-headache, asthma, and all other diseases 
ffoin one person to another, and diffusing them through 
the whole community. Others flatly affirmed that the 
evil one had got possession of Cotton Mather, and was at 
the bottom of the whole business. 

You must observe, children, that Cotton Mather's fel- 
low-citizens were generally inclined to doubt the wisdom 
of any measure which he might propose to them. They 
recollected how he had led them astray in the old witch- 
craft delusion ; and now, if he thought and acted ever so 
wisely, it was difficult for him to get the credit of it. 

The people's wrath grew so hot at his attempt to 
guard them from the small-pox that he could not walk 
the streets in peace. Whenever the venerable form of 
the old minister, meagre and haggard with fasts and 
vigils, Avas seen approaching, hisses were heard, and 
shouts of derision, and scornful and bitter laughter. The 
women snatched away their children from his path, lest 
he should do them a mischief. Still, however, bending 
liis head meekly, and perhaps stretching out his hands to 
bless those who reviled him, he pursued his way. But 
the tears came into iiis eyes to think how blindly the 
people rejected the means of safety that were offered 
them. 

Indeed, there were melancholy sights enough in the 
streets of Boston to draw forth the tears of a compassion- 
ate man. Over the door of almost every dwelling a red 
Hag was fluttering in the air. This was the signal that 
the small-pox had entered the house and attacked some 
member of the family ; or perhaps the whole family, old 
and young, were struggling at once with the pestilence. 



102 GllAXDFATHER'S CHAIR. 

rriends and relatives, when they met one another in the 
streets, would hurry onward without a grasp of the hand 
or scarcely a word of greeting, lest they should catch ur 
coinumnicate the contagion; and often a cuffiu was borne 
hastily along. 

" Alas ! alas ! " said Cotton Mather to himself, " what 
shall be done for this poor, misguided people ? that 
Providence would open their eyes, and enable them to 
discern good from evil ! " 

So furious, however, were the people, that they threat- 
ened vengeance against any person who should dare to 
practise inoculation, though it were only in his own fam- 
ily. This was a hard case for Cotton Mather, who saw 
no other way to rescue his poor child Samuel from the 
disease. But he resolved to save him, even if his house 
should be burned over his head. 

"I will not be turned aside," said he. "My towns- 
men shall see that I have failh in this thing, when I make 
the experiment on my beloved son, whose life is dearer 
to me than my own. And when 1 have saved Samuel, 
peradvcnture they will be persuaded to save themselves." 

Accordingly Samuel was inoculated ; and so was Mr, 
"Walter, a son-in-law of Cotton Mather. Doctor Boyl- 
ston, likewise, inoculated many persons ; and while hun- 
dreds died who had cauglit. the contagion from the gar- 
ments of the sick; almost all were preserved who followed 
the wise physician's advice. 

But the people were not yet convinced of their mis- 
take. One night a destructive little instrument, called a 
hand-grenade, was thrown into Cotton Mather's window, 
and rolled under Grandfather's chair. It was supposed 
to be filled with gunpowder, the explosion of which 
would have blown the poor minister to atoms. But the 
best informed historians are of opinion that the grenade 



GRANDFATHER'S CIIATR. 103 

contained only brimstone and assafnctida, and was meant 
to j)l:igue Cotton Mather with a very evil perfume. 

Tliis is no strange thing in human experience. Men 
who attempt to do the world more good than the world is 
able entirely to comprehend are almost invariably held in 
bad odor. But yet, if the wise and good man can wait 
awhile, either tha presant generation or posterity will do 
him justice. So it proved in the case which we have 
been speaking of. In after years, when inoculation was 
universally practised and thousands were saved from 
death by it, the people remembered old Cotton Mather, 
tiien sleeping in his grave. They acknowledged that the 
very thing for which they had so reviled and persecuted 
him was the best and wisest thmg he ever did. 

" Grandfather, this is not an agreeable story," observed 
Clara. 

" No, Clara," replied Grandfather. " But it is right 
that you should know what a dark shadow this disease 
threw over the times of our forefathers. And now, if you 
wish to learn more about Cotton Mather, you must read 
liis biography, written by Mr. Peabody, of Springfield. 
You will find it very entertaining and instructive ; but 
perhaps the writer is somewhat too harsh in his judgment 
of this singular man. He estimates him fairly, indeed, 
and understands liim well; but he unriddles his character 
rather by acuteness than by sympathy. Now, his life 
should have been written by one who, knowing all his 
faults, would nevertheless love him." 

So Grandfatlier made an end of Cotton Mather, telling 
his auditors that he died in 1728, at the age of sixty- 
five, and bequeathed the chair to Elisha Cooke. This 
gentleman was a famous advocate of the people's rights. 

The same year Williain Burnet, a son of the celebrated 



104 GRAXDFATHEll'S CHAIR. 

Blsliop Burnet, arriA-ed in Boston with tlie commission 
of governor. He was the first that had been appointed 
since the departure of Colonel Sliute, Governor Burnet 
took up his residence with Mr. Cooke while the Province 
House was undergoing repairs. During this period lie 
was always complimented with a seat in Grandfather's 
chair; and so comforlable did he find it, that, on remov- 
ing to the Province House, he could not bear to leave 
it behind him. Mr. Cooke, therefore, requested his ac- 
ceptance of it. 

" I should think," said Laurence, " that the people 
would have petitioned the king always to appoint a 
native-born Kew-Englander to govern ihem." 

" Undoubtedly it was a grievance," answered Grand- 
father, "to see men placed in this station who perhaps 
had neither talents nor virtues to fit them for it, and 
who certainly could have no natural affection for the 
country. The king generally bestowed the governor- 
ships of the American colonics upon needy noblemen, 
or hangers-on at court, or disbanded ofiicers. The peo- 
ple knew that such persons would be very likely to make 
the good of the country subservient to the wishes of ihe 
king. The Legislature, therefore, endeavored to keep 
as much power as possible in their own hands, by refus- 
ing to settle a fixed salary upon the governors. It Avas 
thought better to pay them according to their deserts." 

" Did Governor Burnet work well for his money ? " 
asked Charley. 

Grandfather could not help smiling at the simplicity of 
Charley's question. Isevertheless, it put the matter in 
a very plain point of view. 

He then described the character of Governor Burnet, 
representing him as a good scholar, possessed of much 
ability, and likcAvise of unspotted integrity. His story 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR,. 105 

affords a striking example how unfortunate it is for a 
man, wlio is placed as ruler over a country, to be com- 
pelled to aim at anything but the good of the people. 
Governor Burnet was so chained down by liis instruc- 
tions from the king that he could not act as he might 
otherwise have wished. Consequentl}'^, his whole term 
of office was wasted in quarrels with the Legislature. 

" I am afraid, children," said Grandfather, " that Gov- 
ernor Burnet found but little rest or comfort in our old 
c!iair. Here he used to sit, dressed in a coat which was 
made of rough, shaggy cloth outside, but of smooth vel- 
vet within. It was said that his own character resem- 
bled that coat ; for his outward manner was rough, but 
his inward disposition soft and kind. It is a pity that 
such a man could not have been kept free from trouble. 
But so harassing were his disputes with the represent- 
atives of the people that he fell into a fever, of which he 
died in 1729. The Legislature had refused him a salary 
while alive ; but they appropriated money enough to 
give him a splendid and pompous funeral." 

And now Grandfather perceived that little Alice had 
fallen fast asleep, with her head upon his footstool. In- 
deed, as Clara observed, she had been sleeping from the 
time of Sir Hovenden Walker's expedition against Quebec 
until the death of Governer Burnet,— a period of about 
eighteen years. And yet, after so long a nap, sweet little 
Alice was a golden-haired child of scarcely five years old. 

"It puts me in mind," said Laurence, "of the story 
of the enchanted princess, who slept many a hundred 
years, and awoke as young and beautiful as ever." 



CHAPTER YI. 




FEW evenings afterwards, cousin Clara linp- 
pened to inquire of Grandfather wlietlier the 
old chair had never been present at a ball. At 
the same time little Alice brought forward a doll, with 
whom she had been holding a long conversation. 

" See, Grandfather ! " cried she. "Did such a prettj 
lady as this ever sit in your great chair? " 

These questions led Grandfather to talk about the fash- 
ions and manners which now began to be introduced from 
England into the provhiccs. The simplicity of the good 
old Puritan times was fast disa])|)earing. This was parlly 
owing to the increasing number and wealth of the inhab- 
itants, and to the additions which they continually received 
by the arrival and settlement of people from beyond the 
sea. 

Another cause of a pompous and artiticial mode of life, 
among those who could afford it, was, that the example 
was set by the royal governors. Under the old charter, 
the governors were the representatives of the people, and 
therefore their way of living had probably been marked 
})y a popular simj)licity. But now, as they represented 
the ])erson of the king, they thought it necessary to pre- 
serve the dignity of their station by the practice of high 
and gorgeous ceremonials. And, besides, the profitable 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 107 

offices under the government were filled by men who had 
lived in London, and had there contracted fashionable 
and luxurious habits of living which they would not 
now lay aside. The wealthy people of the province im- 
itated them ; and thus begau a general change in social 
life. 

"So, my dear Clara," said Grandfather, "after our 
chair had entered the Province House, it must often 
have been present at balls and festivals ; though I can- 
not give you a description of any particular one. But I 
doubt not that they were very magnificent; and slaves in 
gorgeous liveries waited on the guests, and oft'cred them 
wine in goblets of massive silver." 

"Were there slaves in those days ! " exck'med Chira. 

" Yes, black slaves and white," replied Grandfather. 
" Our ancestors not only brought negroes from Africa, 
but Indians from South America, and white people from 
Ireland. These last were sold, not for life, but for a cer- 
tain number of years, in order to pay the expenses of 
their voyage across the Atlantic. Nothing was more 
common tlian to see a lot of likely Irish girls advertised 
for sale in the newspapers. As for the little negro babies, 
they were offered to be given away like young kittens." 

"Perhaps Alice would have liked one to play with, in- 
stead of her doll," said Charley, laughing. 

But little Alice clasped the waxen doll closer to her 
bosom. 

" Now, as for this pretty doll, my little Alice," said 
Grandfather, "I wish you could have seen what splendid 
dresses the ladies wore in those times. They had silks, 
and satins, and damasks, and brocades, and high head- 
dresses, and all sorts of fine things. And they used to 
wear hooped petticoats, of such enormous size that it was 
quite a journey to walk round them." 



108 GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 

" And how did the gentlemen dress ? " asked Cliarley. 

" With full as much maj^uificeiice as the ladies," an- 
swered Grandfather. " Tor their holiday suits they had 
coats of figured velvet, crimson, green, blue, and all other 
gay colors, embroidered with gold or silver lace. Their 
waistcoats, wliich were five times as large as modern 
ones, w^ere very splendid. Sometimes the whole waist- 
coat, which came down almost to the knees, was made of 
gold brocade." 

" Wliy, the wearer must have shone like a golden 
image ! " said Clara. 

"And then," continued Grandfather, "they wore va- 
rious sorts of periwigs, such as the tie, the spencer, the 
brigadier, the major, tlie albemarle, the ramilies, the 
feather top, and the full bottom. Their three-cornered 
hats were laced with gold or silver. They had shining 
buckles at the knees of their small-clothes, and buckles 
likewise in their shoes. They wore sAvords with beau- 
tiful hilts, either of silver, or sometimes of polished steel, 
inlaid with gold. 

" 0, I should like to wear a sword ! " cried Charley. 

" And an embroidered crimson velvet coat," said Clara, 
laughing, "and a gold brocade waistcoat down to your 
knees ! " 

" And knee-buckles and shoe-buckles," said Laurence, 
laughing also. 

" And a periwig," added httle Alice, soberly, not 
knowing what was the article of dress which she recom- 
mended to our friend Charley. 

Grandfather smiled at the idea of Charley's sturdy little 
figure in such a grotesque caparison. He then went on 
with the history of the chair, and told the children that, 
in 1730, King George II. appointed Jonathan Belclier to 
be governor of Massachusetts in place of the deceased 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 109 

Governor Burnet. Mr. Belcher was a native of the 
provhice, but had spent much of his hfe in Europe. 

The new governor found Grandfather's chair in the 
Province House. He was struck with its noble and 
stately aspect, but was of opinion that age and hard ser- 
vices had made it scarcely so fit for courtly company as 
when it stood in the Earl of Lincoln's hall". Wherefore, 
as Governor Belcher was fond of splendor, he employed a 
skilful artist to beauiify the chair. This was done by pol- 
ishing and varnishing it, and by gilding the carved work 
of tlie elbows, and likewise the oaken ilowers of ti»e back. 
The lion's head now shone like a veritable lump of gold. 
Finally Governor Belcher gave the chair a cushion of 
blue damask, Avith a rich golden fringe. 

" Our good old chair being thus glorified," proceeded 
Grandfatlier, " it glittered with a great deal more splen- 
dor than it had exhibited just a century before, when the 
Lady Arbella brought it over from England. Most peo- 
ple mistook it for a chair of the latest London fashion. 
And this may serve for an example, that there is almost 
always an old and time-worn substance under all the glit- 
tering show of new invention." 

" Grandfather, I cannot see any of the gilding," re- 
marked Charley, who had been examining the chair very 
minutely. 

" You will not wonder that it has been rubbed off," 
replied Grandfather, " when you hear all the adventures 
that have since befallen the chair. Gilded it was ; and 
the handsomest room in the Province House was adorned 
byit." 

There was not much to interest the children in what 
happ:'ned during the years that Governor Belcher re- 
mained in the chair. At first, like Colonel Shute and 
Governor Burnet, he was engaged in disputing with the 



]10 GllANDFATllEIl'S CHAIR. 

Legislature about his salary. Buf, as he found it impos- 
sible to get a fixsd sum, he fiually obtained the king's 
leave to accept wliatever the Legislature chose to give 
liim. And thus the people triumphed, after this long 
contest for the privilege of expenduig their own money 
as they saw fit. 

Tlie renuiinder of Governor Belcher's term of office 
was priucipally taken up in endeavoring to settle Ihe 
currency. Honest John Hull's pine-tree shillings had 
long ago been worn out, or lost, or melted down again ; 
and their ])lace was supplied by bills of paper or parclimcut, 
wliich were nominally valued at threepence and upwards. 
The value of these bills kept continually sinking, because 
the real hard money could not be obtained for them. 
They were a great deal worse than the old Indian cur- 
rency of clam-shells. These disorders of the circulating 
medium were a source of endless plague and perplexiiy 
to the rulers and legislators, not only in Governor Bel- 
cher's days, but for many years before and afterwards. 

Finally the people susjjected that Governor B^'lcher 
was secretly endeavoring to establish the Episcopal mode 
of worship in the provinces. There was enougii of the 
old Puritan spirit remaining to cause most of the true 
sons of New England to look with horror upon such an 
attempt. Great exertions were made to induce the king 
to remove the governor. Accordingly, in 17^0, he was 
compelled to resign his office, and Grandfather's chair 
into the bargain, to Mr. Shirley. 



CHAPTER Vir. 



v 



TLLIAM SIimLEY," said Graudratlier, "had 
come from Eiig-laiid a few years before, and 
begun to practise law iu Boston. You will 
tliiulc, perhaps, that, as he had bsen a lawyer, the new 
governor used to sit in our great chair reading heavy law- 
books from morning till niglit. On the contrary, he was 
as stirring and active a governor as Massacliusetts ever 
liad. Even Sir William Phipps hardly equalled him. 
The first year or two of his administration was spent in 
trying to regulate the currency. But in 1744, after a 
))eace of more tlian thirty years, war broke out between 
Prance and Eugland." 

" And I su))pose," said Charley, " the governor went 
to take Canada." 

"Not exactly, Charley," said Grandfather; "though 
you liave made a pretty shrewd conjecture. He planned, 
in 1745, an expedition against Louisburg. This was a 
fortified city, on the island of Cape Breton, near Nova 
Scotia. Its walls were of immense height and strength, 
and were defended by hundreds of heavy cannon. It was 
the strongest fortress which the French possessed iu 
America; and if the king of France had guessed Gov- 
ernor Shirley's intentions, he would have sent all the 
ships he could muster to protect it." 



112 GRAXEFATIIER'S CHAIR. 

As the siege of Louisbnrg was one of llie most remark- 
able events that ever tlie inhabitants of New England 
were engaged in, Grandfather endeavored to give his 
auditors a lively idea of the spirit with which they set 
about it. We shall call his description 

THE PROVINCIAL MUSTER. 

The expedition against Louisburg first began to be 
thought of in the month of January, rrom that time 
tlie governor's ehair was continually surrounded l)y coun- 
cillors, representatives, clergymen, captains, pilots, and 
all manner of people, with whom he consulted about 
this wonderful project. 

First of all, it was necessary to provide men and arms. 
The Legislature immediately sent out a huge quantity of 
paper-money, with which, as if by magic spell, the gov- 
ernor hoped to get possession of all tlie old cannon, pow- 
der and balls, rusty swords and muskets, and everything 
else that would be serviceable in killing rrenchmen. 
Drums were beaten in all the villages of Massachusetts 
to enlist soldiers for the service. Messages were sent to 
the other governors of New England, and to New York 
and Pennsylvania, entreating them to unite in this cru- 
sade against the French. All these provhices agreed to 
give what assistance they could. 

But there was one very important thhig to be decided. 
Who shall be the general of this gre*it army ? Peace 
Lad continued such an unusual length of time, that there 
was now less military experience among the colonists 
than at any former period. The old Puritans had always 
kept their Aveapons bright, and were never destitute of 
warlike captains who were skilful in assault or defence. 
But the swords of their descendants h.r.d grown rusty by 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 113 

disuse. There was nobody in New England that knew 
anything about sieges or any other reguh.r ligh.ing. The 
only Pearsons at all acquainted with warlike business were 
a few elderly men, who had hunted Indians through the 
underbrush of the I'orest in old Governor DauiiUer's 
war. 

In tills dilemma Governor Shirley fixed upon a wealthy 
merchant, named William Pepperell, who was ])retty well 
known and liked among the people. As to military skill, 
he had no more of it than his neighbors. But, as the 
governor urged him very pressingly, Mr. Pepperell con- 
sented to shut up his ledger, gird on a sword, and assume 
the title of general. 

Meantime, what a hubbub was raised by this scheme! 
llub-a-dub-dub ! rub-a-dul)-dub ! The rattle of drums, 
beaten out of all manner of time, was heard above every 
other sound. 

Nothing now was so valuable as arms, of whatever 
style and fashion they might be. The bellows blew, and 
the hammer clanged continually upon the anvil, while ths 
blacksmiths were repairing the broken weapons of other 
wars. Doubtless some of the soldiers lugged out those 
enormous, heavy muskets which used to be fired, with 
rests, in the time of the early Puritans. Great horse- 
pistols, too, were found, which would go off with a bang 
like a cannon. Old cannon, with touchholes almost as 
big as their muzzles, w-ere looked upon as inestimable 
treasures. Pikes which, perhaps, had been hnndled by 
Miles Standish's soldiers, now made their appearance 
again. Many a young man ransacked the garret and 
brought forth his great-grandfather's sword, corroded 
with rust and stained with the blood of King Philip's 
, War. 

Never had there been such an arming as this, wlien a 

II 



114 GUANDFATHER'S CIIAIR. 

people, so long peaceful, rose to tlic war witli the best 
weapons that llicy could lay their hands upon. And 
still the drums were heard — rub-a-dub-dub! rub-a-dub- 
dub ! — in all the towns and vilhii^es ; and louder and 
n)ore numerous grew the tramj)ling- footsteps of the 
recruits that marched behind. 

And now the army began to gaUier into Boston. 
Tall, lanky, awkward fellows came in squads, and com- 
panies, and regiments, swaggering along, dressed in their, 
brown liomes])un clotiies and blue yarn stockings. They 
stooped as if they still had hold of the plough-handles, 
and niarched without any time or tune. Hither ihey 
came, from the cornfields, from tlie clearing in tiie forest, 
from the blacksmith's forge, from the carjienter's work- 
shop, and from the shoemaker's seat. They were an 
army of rough faces and sturdy frames. A trained (ifli- 
cer of Europe would have laughed at tliem till his sides 
had ached. But there was a spirit in their bosoms which 
is more essential to soldiership than to wear red coats 
and march in stately ranks to the sound of regular 
music. 

Still was heard the beat of the drum, — rub-a-dub- 
dub! And now a host of three or four thousand men 
liad found tlieir way to Boston. Little cpiiet was there 
then ! Forth scampered the school-boys, shout ing behind 
the drums. The whole town, the whole land, was on 
fire with war. 

After the arrival of tlie troops, they were probably re- 
viewed upon tiie Connnon. We may imagine Governor 
Shirley and General Pepperell riding slowly along the 
line, while the drunnners beat strange old tunes, like 
psalm-tunes, and all the officers and soldiers put on their 
most warlike looks. It would have been a terrible sight 
for the Frenchmen, could they but have witnessed it! 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 115 

At lengtli, on tlie 24tli of March, 1715, tlie army gave 
a parting shout, and set sail from Boston in ten or 
twelve vessels which had been hired by the governor. 
A few days afterwards an English fleet, comuianded by 
Commodore Peter Warren, sailed also for Louisl)urg to 
assist the provincial army. So now, after all this bustle 
of preparation, the town and province were left in still- 
ness and repose. 

But stillness and repose, at such a time of anxious 
expectation, are hard to bear. The hearts of the old 
people and women sunk within them when they reflected 
what perils they had sent their sons, and husbands, and 
brothers to encounter. The boys loitered heavily to 
school, missing the rub-a-dub-dub and the trampling 
march, in the rear of w hicli they had so lately run and 
shouted. All the ministers prayed earnestly in their 
pulpits for a blessing on the army of Naw England. In 
every family, when the good man lifted up his heart in 
domestic worship, the burden of his petition was for th3 
safety of those dear ones who were fighting undar tha 
walls of Louisburg. 

Governor Shirley all this time was probably in an ec- 
stasy of impatience. He could not sit still a moment. 
He found no quiet, not even in Grandfather's chair ; but 
hurried to and fro, and up and down the staircase of the 
Province House. Now he mounted to the cupola and 
looked seaward, straining his eyes to discover if there 
were a sail upon the horizon. Now he hastened down 
the stairs, and stood beneath the portal, on the red fi-ee- 
stone steps, to receive some mud-bespattered courier, 
from whom he hoped to hear tidings of the army. A 
few weeks after the departure of the troops, Connnodorc 
Warren sent a small vessel to Boston with two Ereiich 
prisoners. One of them was Monsieur Bouladrie, who 



116 GEAXDFATHER'S CIIAIll. 

had been commander of a battery outside of the walls 
of Louisburg. The oilier was the Marquis de la Maisoii 
Forte, captaiu of a French frigate which had been taken 
by Commodore Warren's fleet. These prisoners assured 
Governor Sliirley that the fortifications of Louisburg 
Vv-ere far too strong ever to be stormed by the provincial 
army. 

Day after day and week after week went on. The 
people grew almost heart-sick with anxiety; for the 
flower of the country was at peril in this adventurous 
expedition. It was now daybreak on the morning of 
the 3d of July. 

But hark! what sound is this? The hurried clang of 
a bell! There is the Old North pealing suddenly out! 
— there the Old South strikes in ! — now the peal comes 
from the church in Brattle Street ! — the bells of nine or 
ten steeples are all flinging their iron voices at once upon 
the morning breeze ! Is it joy, or alarm ? There goes 
the roar of a cannon too ! A royal salute is thundered 
forth. And now we hear the loud exulting shout of 
a multitude assembled in the street. Huzza! huzza! 
Louisburg has surrendered ! Huzza ! 

"0 Grandfather, how glad I should have been to live 
in those times ! " cried Charley. " And what reward 
did the king give to General Pepperell and Governor 
Shirley?" 

" He made Pepperell a baronet ; so that he M-as now 
to be called Sir "William Pepperell," replied Grandfather. 
" He likewise appointed both Pepperell and Shirley to be 
colonels in the royal army. These rewards, and higher 
ones, were well deserved ; for this was the greatest 
triumph that the English met with in the whole course 
of that war. General Pepperell became a man of great 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 117 

fame. I have seen a full-length portrait of lihn, repre- 
senting him in a splendid scarlot uuiforin, standing before 
ths walls of Louisburg, while several bombs are fallmsr 
through the air." 

" But did the country gain any real good by the con- 
quest of Louisburg F " asked Laurence. " Or was all 
the benefit reaped by Pepperell and Shirley ? " 

" The English ParUament," said Grandfather, " agreed 
to pay the colonists for all the expenses of the siege. 
Accordingly, in 1749, two hundred and fifteen chests of 
Spanish dollars and one hundred casks of copper cohi 
were brought from England to Boston. The Avhole 
amount was about a million of dollars. Twenty-seven 
carts and trucks carried this money from the wharf to 
the provincial treasury. Was not this a pretty liberal 
reward ? " 

" Tlis mothers of the young men who were killed at 
the siege of Louisburg would not have thought it so," 
said Laurence. 

" No, Laurence," rejoined Grandfather; ''and every 
warlike achievement involves an amount of physical and 
moral evil, for which all the gold in the Spanish mines 
would not be the slightest recompense. But we are to 
consider that this siege was one of the occasions on 
which the colonists tested their ability for war, and thus 
were prepared for the great contest of the Revolution. 
In that point of view, the valor of our forefathers was its 
own reward," 

Grandfather went on to say that the success of the 
expedition against Louisburg induced Shirley and Pep- 
perell to form a scheme for conquering Canada. This 
plan, however, was not carried into execution. 

In the year 174G great terror was excited by the 
arrival of a formidable French fleet upon the coast. -It 



118 GRANDFATHER'S CHAIE. 

was commanded by the Duke d'Aiiville, aud consisted of 
fort}' ships of \var, besides vessels with soldiers on board. 
With this force the Trench intended to retake Louis- 
burg, and afterwards to ravage the whole of New Eng- 
land. Many people were ready to give up the country 
for lost. 

But the hostile fleet met with so many disasters and 
losses by storm and shipwreck, that the Duke d'Anville 
IS said to have poisoned himself in despair. The officer 
next ill command threw himself upon his sword and 
perished. Thus deprived of their commanders, the re- 
mainder of the sliips returned to France. This was as 
great a deliverance for Kew England as that which Old 
England had experienced in the days of Queen Eliza- 
beth, when the Spanish Armada was wrecked upon her 
coast. 

"In 1747," proceeded Grandfather," Governor Shirley 
•was driven from the Province House, not by a hostile 
fleet and army, but by a mob of the Boston people. They 
were so incensed at the conduct of the British Commo- 
dore Knowles, who had impressed some of their fellow- 
citizens, that several thousands of them surrounded the 
council chamber and threw stones and brickbats into the 
windows. The governor attempted to pacify them ; but 
not succeeding, he thought it necessary to leave the town 
and take refuge within the walls of Castle William. 
Quiet was not restored until Commodore Knowles had 
sent back the impressed men. This affair was a flash of 
spirit that might have warned the English not to venture 
upon any oppressive measures against their colonial breth- 
ren." 

Peace being declared between Erance and England in 
1748, the governor iiad now an opportunity to sit at his 
ease in Grandfather's chair. Such repose, however, ap- 



GrvANDFATIIER'S CHAIR. 



119 



p3ars not to liave suited his disposition; for in the follow- 
in:^ year he went to England, and thence was d'^spatched 
to France on public business. Meanwhile, as Shirley had 
not resigned his otfice, Lieutenant-Governor Phipps acted 
as chief magistrate in his stead. 




CHAPTER YIII. 




N the early twiliglit of Tlianl^sgivlng eve came 
Laurence, and Clara, and Charley, and liltle 
Alice hand in hand, and stood in a semicircle 
round Grandfatlicr's chair. They had been jo^^ous 
throughout that day of fcstivily, mingling together in 
all kinds of play, so that the house had echoed uilh 
their airy mirth. 

Grandfather, too, had been happy, though not mirth- 
ful. He felt that this was to be set down as one of the 
good Thanksgivings of his life. In truth, all his former 
Thanksgivings had borne their part in the present one ; 
for his years of infancy, and youth, and manhood, with 
their blessings and their griefs, had flitted before him 
while he sat silently in the great chair. A anished scenes 
had been pictured in the air. Tlie forms of departed 
friends had visited him. Voices to be heard no more on 
earth had sent an echo from the infinite xind the eternal. 
These shadows, if such tlfey were, seemed almost as real 
to him as what was actually present, — as the merry 
shouts and laughter of the children, — as their figures, 
dancing like sunshine before his eyes. 

He felt that the past M'as not taken from him. The 
happiness of former days was a possession forever. And 
there was somethinsr in the mingled sorrow of his life- 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 121 

lime that became akiu to liappiness, after being long 
t measured in tiie depths of his heart. There it under- 
went a change, and grew more precious tlian pure gold. 

And now came the children, somewhat aweary with 
their wild play, and sought the quiet enjoyment of Grand- 
lather's talk. The good old gentleman rubbed his eyes 
and smiled round upon them all. He was glad, as most 
aged peo[)le are, to find that he was yet of consequence 
aud could give pleasure to the world. After being so 
merry all day long, did these children desire to hear his 
sober talk ? O, then, old Grandfather had yet a place to 
fill among living men, — or at least among boys and girls ! 

"Begin quick. Grandfather," cried little Alice; "for 
pussy wants to hear you." 

And truly our yellow friend, the cat, lay upon the 
hearth-rug, basking in tlie warmth of the fire, pricking up 
her ears, and turnhig her head from the children to 
Grandfather, and from Grandfather to the children, as if 
she felt herself very sympathetic with them all. A loud 
pur, like the singing of a teakettle or the hum of a spin- 
ning-wheel, testified that she was as comfortable and 
happy as a cat could be. Tor puss had feasted; and 
therefore, like Grandfather and the children, had kept a 
good Thanksgiving. 

" Does pussy want to hear me ? " said Grandfather, 
smiling. " Well, we must please pussy, if we can." 

And so he took up the history of the chair from the 
epoch of the peace of 1748. By one of the provisions 
of the treaty, Louisburg, w^hich the New-Englanders had 
been at so much pains to take, was restored to the King 
of France. 

The French were afraid that, unless their colonies should 
be better defended than heretofore, another war might 
deprive them of the whole. Almost as soon as peace was 
6 



122 GRAXDFATHEE'S CHAIR. 

declared, therefore, they began to build strong fortifica- 
tions in the interior of North America. It was strange 
to beliold these warhke castles on the banks of solitary 
lakes, and far in the midst of woods. The Indian, pad- 
dling his birch canoe on Lake Champlain, looked up at 
the iiigh ramparts of Ticonderoga, stone piled on stone, 
bristling with cannon, and tlie white flag of I'rance float- 
ing above. There were similar fortifications on Lake 
Ontario, and near the great Tails of Niagara, and at the 
sources of the Ohio River. And all around these forts 
and castles lay the eternal forest ; and the roll of the 
drum died away in those deep solitudes. 

The truth was, that the French intended to build forts 
all the way from Canada to Louisiana. They would then 
liave had a wall of military strength at the back of the Eng- 
lish settlements so as completely to hem them in. The 
King of England considered the building of these forts 
as a sufficient cause of war, which was accordingly com- 
menced in 1754. 

"Governor Sliirley," said Grandfather, "had returned 
to Boston in 1753. While in Paris he had married a 
second wife, a young Erench girl, and now brought her 
to the Province House. But Avhen war was breaking 
out it was impossible for such a bustling man to stay 
quietly at home, sitting in our old chair, with his wife 
and children round about him. He therefore obtained 
a command in the English forces." 

" And what did Sir William Pcpperell do ? " asked 
Charley. 

"He stayed at home," said Grandfather, "and was 
general of the militia. The veteran regiments of the 
English army which were now sent across the Atlantic 
would have scorned to fight under the orders of an old 
American merchant. And now began what aged people 



GHANDFATHEU'S CHAIH. 123 

call the old Prencli war. It would be f^oing too far 
astray from the history of our chair to tell you one lialf 
of the battles that were fought. I cannot even allow 
myself to describe the bloody defeat of General Brad- 
dock, near the sources of the Ohio Kiver, in 1755. But 
1 must not omit to mention that, when the English gen- 
eral was mortally wounded and his army routed, the 
remains of it were preserved by the skill and valor of 
Geokge Washington." 

At the mention of this illustrious name the children 
started as if a sudden sunlight had gleamed upon the 
history of- their country, now that the great deliverer 
had arisen above the horizon. 

Among all the events of the old French war, Grand- 
father thought that there was none more interesting than 
the removal of the inhabitants of Acadia. From the first 
settlement of this ancient province of the French, in 
1604, until the present time, its people could scarcely 
ever know what kingdom held dominion over them. 
They were a peaceful race, taking no delight in warfare, 
and caring nothing for military renown. And yet, in 
every war, their region was infested with iron-hearted sol- 
diers, both French and English, who fought one another 
for the privilege of ill treating these poor, harmless Aca- 
dians. Sometimes the treaty of peace made them sub- 
jects of one king, sometimes of another. 

At the })eace of 174S Acadia had been ceded to Eng- 
land. But the French still claimed a large portion of it, 
and built forts for its defence. In 1755 these forts were 
taken, and the whole of Acadia was conquered by three 
thousand men from Massachusetts, under the command 
of General Winslow. The inhabitants were accused of 
supplying the French with provisions, and of doing other 
things that violajted their neutrality. 



124 GRANDFATIIErt'S CHAIE. 

"These accusations were probably true," observed 
Grandfather; "for the Acadians were descended from 
the French, and had the same friendly feelings towards 
them that the people of Masssachusetts had for the Eng- 
lish. But their punishment was severe. The English 
determined to tear these poor people from their native 
homes and scatter them abroad." 

The Acadians were about seven thousand in number. 
A considerable part of them were made prisoners, and 
transported to the English colonies. All their dwellings 
and churches were burned, their cattle were killed, and 
the whole country was laid waste, so that none of them 
might find shelter or food in their old homes after the de- 
parture of the English. One thousand of the prisoners 
were sent to Massachusetts; and Grandfather allowed 
his fancy to follow them thither, and tried to give his au- 
ditors an idea of their situation. 

We shall call this passage the story of 

THE ACADIAN EXILES. 

A sad day it was for the poor Acadians when the 
armed soldiers drove them, at the point of the bayonet, 
down to the sea-shore. Very sad were they, likewise, 
while tossing upon the ocean in the crowded transport 
vessels. But methinks it must have been sadder still 
when they were landed on the Long Wharf in Boston, 
and left to themselves on a foreign strand. 

Then, probably, they huddled together and looked into 
one another's faces for the comfort which was not there. 
Hitherto they had been confined on board of separate 
vessels, so that they could not tell whether their relatives 
and friends were prisoners along with them. But now, 
at least, they could tell that many had been left behind 
or transport-ed to other regions. 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 125 

Now a desolate wife iiiiglit be lieard calling for lier 
husband. He, alas ! had gone, she knew not whither; 
or perhaps had fled into tiie woods of Acadia, and had 
now returned to Aveep over the ashes of their dwelling. 

An aged widow was crying out in a querulous, lament- 
able tone for her son, wliose affectionate toil had sup- 
])orted lier for many a year. He was not in the crowd 
of exiles ; and what could this aged widow do but sink 
dawn and die ? Young men and maidens, whose hearts 
had been torn asunder by separation, had hoped, during 
the voyage, to meet tliair beloved ones at its close. Now 
tliey began to feel that they were separated forever. And 
perhaps a lonesome little girl, a golden-haired child of 
Ifve years old, the very picture of our little Alice, was 
Aveeping and wailing for her mother, and found not a soul 
to give her a kind word. 

O, how many broken bonds of affection were here ! 
Country lost, — friends lost, — their rural wealth of cot- 
tage, held, and herds all lost together! Every tie be- 
tween these poor exiles and the world seemed to be cut 
oft' at once. They must have regretted that they had not 
died before their exile ; for even the English would not 
have been so pitiless as to deny them graves in their, 
native soil. The dead were happy; for they were not 
exiles ! 

While they thus stood upon the wharf, the curiosity 
and inquisitiveness of the New England people would 
naturally lead them into the midst of the poor Acadiaus. 
Prying busybodies thrust their heads into the circle 
wherever two or three of the exiles were conversing to- 
gelher. How puzzled did they look at the outlandish 
sound of the Erench tongue ! There were seen the New 
England women, too. They had just come out of their 
Avarm, safe homes, where everything was. regular and 



126 GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 

comfortable, and where their husbands and children 
would be with tlieni at nightfall. Surely they could pity 
the wretched wives and mothers of Acadia ! Or did the 
sign of the cross which the Acadians continually made 
upon their breasts, and which was abhorred by the de- 
scendants of the Puritans, — did that sign exclude all pity? 

Among the spectators, too, was tiie noisy brood of 
Boston school-boys, Avho came running, with laughter and 
shouts, to gaze at this crowd of oddly dressed foreigners. 
At first they danced and capered around them, full of 
merriment and mischief. But the despair of the Aca- 
dians soon had its eflect upon these thoughtless lads, and 
melted them into tearful sympatln'. 

At a little distance from the throng might be seen the 
wealthy and pompous merchants whose warehouses stood 
on Long Wharf. It was difficult to touch these rich 
men's hearts; for they had all the comforts of the world 
at their command; and when they walked abroad their 
feelings were seldom moved, except by the roughness of 
the pavement irritating their gouty toes. Leaning upon 
their gold-headed canes, they watched the scene Avith an 
aspect of composure. But let us hope they distributed 
some of their superfluous coin among these hapless exiles 
to purchase food and a night's lodging. 

After standing a long time at the end of the wharf, 
gazing seaward, as if to catch a glimpse of their lost 
Acadia, the strangers began to stray into the town. 

They went, we will suppose, in parties and groups, 
liere a hundred, there a score, there ten, there three or 
four, who possessed some bond of unity among them- 
selves. Here and there was one, who, utterly desolate, 
stole away by himself, seeking no companionship. 

"Whither did they go ? I imagine them wandering 
about the streets, telling the townspeople, in outland- 



GUANDFATHER'S CHAIU. 127 

isli, unintelligible words, that no earthly affliction ever 
equalled what had befallen them. Man's brotherhood 
with man was sufficient to make the New-Englanders 
understand this language. The strangers wanted food. 
Some of them sought hospitality at the doors of the 
stately mansions which then stood in the vicinity of 
Hanover Street and the North Square. Others were ap- 
plicants at the humble wooden tenements, where dwelt 
the petty shopkeepers and mechanics. Pray Heaven 
that no family in Boston turned one of these poor exiles 
from their door ! It would be a reproach upon New 
England, — a crime worthy of heavy retribution, — if the 
aged women and children, or even the strong men, were 
allowed to feel the pinch of hunger. 

Perhaps some of the Acadians, in their aimless wan- 
derings through the town, found themselves near a large 
brick edifice, which was fenced in from the street by au 
iron railing, wrought with fantastic figures. They saw 
a flight of red freestone steps ascending to a portal, 
above which was a balcony and balustrade. Misery and 
desolation give men the right of free passage everywhere. 
Let us suppose, then, that they mounted the flight of 
steps and passed into the Province House. Making 
their way into one of the apartments, they beheld a 
richly-clad gentleman, seated in a stately chair, with 
gilding upon the carved work of its back, and a gilded 
lion's head at the summit. This was Governor Shirley, 
meditating upon matters of war and state, in Grandfa- 
ther's chair ! 

If such an incident did happen, Shirley, reflecting 
what a ruin of peaceful and humble hopes had beeu 
wrought by the cold policy of the statesman and the 
iron hand of the warrior, might have drawn a deep 
moral from it. It should have taught him that the poor 



128 GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 

man's liearth is sacred, and tliat armies and nations liave 
no right to violate it. It should have made hiin feel 
that England's trinmph and increased dominion could 
not compensate to mankind nor atone to Heaven for the 
ashes of a single Acadian cottage. But it is not thus 
that statesmen and warriors moralize. 

"Grandfather," cried Laurence,- with emotion trem- 
bling in his voice, " did iron-hearted War itself ever do so 
hard and cruel a thing as this before ? " 

" You have read in history, Laurence, of whole regions 
wantonly laid waste," said Grandfather, " In the re- 
moval of the Acadians, the troops were guilty of no 
cruelty or outrage, except what was inseparable from the 
measure." 

Little Alice, whose eyes had all along been brimming 
full of tears, now burst forth a-sobbing ; for Grandfather 
had touched her sympathies more than he intended. 

" To think of a whole people homeless in the Avorld ! " 
said Clara, with moistened eyes. " There never was any- 
thing so sad ! " 

" It was their own fault ! " cried Charley, energeti- 
cally. " Why did not they fight for the country where 
tiiey were born ? Then, if the Avorst had happened to 
them, they could only have been killed and buried there. 
They would not have been exiles then." 

" Certainly their lot was as hard as death," said Grand- 
father. "All that could be done for them in the Englisli 
provinces was, to send them to the almshouses, or bind 
them out to taskmasters. And this was the fate of per- 
sons who had possessed a comfortable property in their 
native country. Some of them found means to embark 
for France ; but tliough it was the land of their fore- 
fathers, it must have been a foreign land to them. Those 
who remained behind always cherished a belief that the 



GHAXDFATHEH'S CHAIR. 129 

King of France would never make peace with England 
till his poor Acadians were restored to their country and 
their lioines." 

" And did he ? " inquired Clara. 

"Alas ! my dear Clara," said Grandfather, "it is im- 
probable that the slightest whisper of the woes of Acadia 
ever reached the ears of Louis XY. The exiles grew 
old in the British provinces, and never saw Acadia 
again. Their descendants remain among us to this day. 
They have forgotten the language of their ancestors, and 
probably retain no tradition of tiieir misfortunes. But, 
methiuks, if I were an American poet, I would choose 
Acadia for the subject of my song." 

Since Grandfather first spoke these words, the most 
famous of American poets has drawn sweet tears from all 
of us by his beautiful poem of Evangeline. 

And now, having thrown a gentle gloom around the 
Tiianksgiving fireside by a story that made the children 
feel the blessing of a secure and peaceful hearth. Grand- 
father put off the other events of the old French war till 
the next evening. 




CHAPTEK IX. 




N the t^-illglit of the succeedhig eve, ^vheii 
the red beams of tlie fire were dancing upon 
the wall, tiie cliildren besoiiglit Grandfather to 
tell tiiem what had next luippened to the old chair. 

"Our chair," said Grandfather, "stood all this time in 
the Province House. But Governor Shirley had seldom 
an opportunity to repose within its arms. He Mas lead- 
ing his troojjs through the forest, or sailing in a fiat-boat 
on Lake Outario, or sleeping in his tent, while the awful 
cataract of Niagara sent its roar through his dreams. At 
one period, in the early part of the war, Shirley had the 
chief com)nand of all the king's forces in America." 

" Did his young wife go with him to the war ? " asked 
Clara. 

"I rather imagine," replied Grandfather, "that she re- 
mained in Boston. This lady, I suppose, had our chair 
all to herself, and used to sit in it during those brief in- 
tervals when a young Frenchwoman can be quiet enough 
to sit in a chair. The people of JNIassachusetts were never 
fond of Governor Shirley's young French wife. They 
had a suspicion that she betrayed the military plans of 
the English to the generals of the French armies." 

"And was it true ? " inquired Clara. 

*' Probably not," said Grandfather. " But the mere sus- 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 131 

picion did Shirley a great deal of liarm. Partly, perhaps, 
for this reason, but much more on account of his ineffi- 
ciency as a general, he was deprived of his command in 
1756, and recalled to England. He never afterwards 
made any figure in public life." 

As Grandfather's chair had no locomotive properties, 
and did not even run on castors, it cannot be supposed to 
have marched in person to the old Trench war. But 
Grandfather delayed its momentous history while he 
touched briefly upon some of the bloody battles, sieges, 
and onslaughts, the tidings of which kept continually 
coming to the ears of the old inhabitants of Boston. The 
woods of the North were populous Avith fighting men. 
All the Indian tribes uplifted their tomahawks, and took 
part either with the French or English. The rattle of 
musketry and roar of cannon disturbed the ancient quiet 
of the forest, and actually drove the bears and other wild 
beasts to the more cidtivated portion of the country in 
the vicinity of the seaports. The children felt as if they 
were transported back to those forgotten times, and that 
the couriers from the army, with the news of a battle lost 
or won, might even now be heard galloping through the 
streets. Grandfather told them about the battle of Lake 
George in 1755, when the gallant Colonel Williams, a 
Massachusetts officer, was slain, with many of his coun- 
trymen. But General Johnson and General Lyman, with 
their army, drove back the enemy and mortally wounded 
the French leader, who was called the Baron Dieskau. 
A gold watch, pilfered from the poor baron, is still in ex- 
istence, and still marks each moment of time without 
complaining of weariness, although its hands have beeu 
in motion ever since the hour of battle. 

In the first years of the war there were many disasters 
on the Eni^lish side. Amonc: these was the loss of Fort 



132 GEAXDFATIIER'S CHAIR. 

Oswego in 1750, and of Fort William Henry in the fol- 
lowiiii^ year. But tiie greatest misfortune that befell the 
English during the whole war was the repulse of General 
Abercrombie, with liis army, from the ramparts of Tieon- 
deroga in 1758. He attempted to storm the walls ; but 
a terrible conflict ensued, in Avhich more than two thou- 
sand Englishmen and Ncw-Englanders were killed or 
"wounded. The slain soldiers now lie buried around that 
ancieut fortress. When the plough passes over the soil, 
it turns up here and there a mouldering bone. 

Up to this period, none of the English generals had 
shown any military talent. Shirley, the Earl of Loudon, 
and General Abercrombie had each held the chief com- 
mand at different times; but not one of them had won a 
single important triumph for the British arms. This ill 
success was not owing to 'the want of means ; for, in 
1758, General Abercrombie had fifty thousand soldiers 
under his command. But the French general, the fa- 
mous Marquis de Montcalm, possessed a great genius 
for war, and had something within him that taught him 
how battles were to be won. 

At length, in 1759, Sir Jeffrey Amherst was appointed 
commander-in-chief of all the British forces in America. 
He was a man of ability and a skilful soldier. A plan 
"was now formed for accomplishing that object which had 
so long l)een the darling wish of the New-Englanders, 
and which their fathers had so many times attempted. 
This was the conquest of Canada. 

Three separate armies were to enter Canada from dif- 
ferent quarters. One of the three, commanded by Gen- 
eral Prideaux, was to embark on Lake Ontario and pro- 
ceed to ^Montreal. The second, at the head of which was 
Sir Jeffrey xVmherst himself, was destined to reach the 
river St. Lawrence, by the way of Lake Champlain, and 



GRANDrATIIER'S CIIAIR. 133 

then go down the river to meet tlie third army. This 
last, led by General Woli'e, was to enter the St. Law- 
rence from the sea and ascend the river to Quohec. 
It is to Wolfe and his army tliat England owes one 
of the most splendid triumphs ever written in her his- 
tory. 

Grandfather described the siege of Quebec, and told 
how Wolfe led his soldiers up a rugged and lofty preci- 
pice, that rose from the shore of the river to the plain on 
whfch the city stood. This bold adventure was achieved 
in the darkness of night. At daybreak tidings were 
carried to the Marquis de Montcalm that the English 
army was waiting to give him battle on the plains of 
Abraham. This brave French general ordered his drums 
to strike up, and immediately marched to encounter 
Wolfe. 

He marched to his own death. The battle was the 
most fiarce and terrible that had ever been fought in 
Aiuerica. General Wolfe was at the head of his soldiers, 
and, while encouraging them onward, received a mortal 
wound. He reclined against a stone in the agonies of 
death ; but it seemed as if his spirit could not pass away 
while the fight yet raged so doubtfully. Suddenly a 
shout came pealing across the battle-field, " They flee ! 
they flee ! " and, for a moment, Wolfe lifted his languid 
head. " Wlio flee?" he inquired. "The French," 
replied an officer. " Then I die satisfied! " said Wolfe, 
and expired in the arms of victory. 

" If ever a warrior's death were glorious, Wolfe's was 
so," said Grandfather ; and his eye kindled, though he 
was a man of peaceful thoughts and gentle spirit. " His 
life-blood streamed to baptize the soil which he had added 
to the dominion of Britain. His dying breath was 
mingled with his army's shout of victory." 



134 GIIAXDFATIIER'S CHAIR. 

" 0, it was a good death to die ! " cried Charley, with 
gUstening eyes. " Was it not a good death, Lau- 
rence ? " 

Laurence made no reply ; for his heart burned within 
him, as the picture of Wolfe, dying on the blood-stained 
fielcf of victory, arose to his imagination ; and yet he had 
a deep inward consciousness that, after all, there was a 
truer glory than could thus be won. 

" There were other battles in Canada after W'^olfe's 
victory," resumed Grandfather ; " but we may consider 
the old French war as having terminated with this great 
event. The treaty of peace, however, was not signed 
until 17G3. The terms of the treaty were very disadvan- 
tageous to the French ; for all Canada, and all Acadia, 
and the island of Cape Breton, — ■ in short, all the terri- 
tories that France and England had been fighting about 
for nearly a hundred years, — were surrendered to the 
English." 

" So now, at last," said Laurence, " New England had 
gained her wisii. Canada was taken." 

"And now there was nobody to fight with but the 
Indians," said Charley. 

Grandfather mentioned two other important events. 
The first was the great fire of Boston in 17G0, when the 
glare from nearly three liundred buildings, all in flames 
at once, shone through the windows of the Province 
House, and threw a fierce lustre upon the gilded foliage 
and lion's head of our old chair. The second event was 
the proclamation, in the same year, of George IIL as 
King of Great Britain. Tlie blast of the trumpet sounded 
from the balcony of the Town House, and awoke the 
echoes far and wide, as if to challenge all mankind to dis- 
pute King Geol-ge's title. 

Seven times, as the successive monarchs of Britain as- 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 



135 



cended the throne, the trumpet peal of proclamation had 
been heard by those who sat in our venerable chair. But 
when the next king put on liis father's crown, no trumpet 
peal proclaimed it to New England. Long before that 
day America had shaken off the royal government. 




CHAPTER X. 




OW tliat Grandfather had fought through the old 
French M^ar, in Avhich our chair made no very 
distinguished figure, he thought it high time to 
tell the children some of the more private history of that 
praiseworthy old piece of furniture. 

"In 1757," said Grandfather, "after Shirley had been 
summoned to England, Thomas Pownall was appointed 
governor of Massachusetts. He was a gay and fashion- 
able English gentleman, who had spent much of his life 
in London, but had a considerable acquaintance with 
America. The new governor appears to have taken no 
active part in the war that was going on ; although, at 
one period, he talked of marching against the enemy at 
the head of his company of cadets. But, on the whole, 
he probably concluded that it was more befitting a gov- 
ernor to remain quietly in our chair, reading the news- 
papers and official documents." 

" Did the people like Pownall ? " asked Charley. 

"They found no fault with him," replied Grandfather. 
'*It was no time to quarrel with the governor when the 
utmost harmony was required in order to defend the coun- 
try against the French. But Pownall did not remain 
long in Massachusetts. In 1759 he was sent to be gov- 
ernor of South Carolina. In thus exchanging one govern- 



GRANDFATHEirS CHAIR. 137 

nient for another, I suppose lie felt no regret, except at 
the necessity of leaving Grandfather's chair behind him." 

" He miglit have taken it to South Carolina," observed 
Clara. 

" It appears to me," said Laurence, giving the rein to 
his fancy, " that the fate of this ancient cliair was, some- 
how or other, mysteriously connected with the fortunes 
of old Massachusetts. If Governor Pownall had put it 
aboard the vessel in which he sailed for South Carolina, 
she would probably have lain wind-bound in Boston Har- 
bor. It was ordained that the chair should not be taken 
away. Don't you think so, Grandfather ? " 

" It was kept here for Grandfather and me to sit in 
together," said little Alice, "and for Grandfather to tell 
stories about." 

"And Grandfather is very glad of such a companion 
and such a theme," said tlie old gentleman, with a smile. 
" Well, Laurence, if our oaken chair, like the wooden 
palladium of Troy, was connected with the country's fate, 
yet there appears to have been no supernatural obstacle 
to its removal from the Province House. In 1700 Sir 
Francis Bernard, who had been governor of New Jersey, 
was appointed to the same office in Massachusetts. He 
looked at the old chair, and thought it quite too shabby 
to keep company with a new set of mahogany chairs and 
an aristocratic sofa which had just arrived from Lon- 
don. He therefore ordered it to be put away in the 
garret." 

Tlie children were loud in their exclamations against 
this irreverent conduct of Sir Francis Bernard. But 
Grandfather defended liim as well as he could. He ob- 
served that it was then thirty years since the chair had 
been beautified by Governor Belcher. Most of the gild- 
ing was worn off by the frequent scourings which it 



138 GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 

bad undergone beneatli the hands of a black slave. The 
damask cushion, once so splendid, was now squeezed out 
of all shape, and absolutely in tatters, so many were the 
ponderous gentlemen who had deposited their weight 
upon it during these thirty years. 

Moreover, at a council held by the Earl of London 
with the governors of New England in 1757, his lord- 
ship, in a moment of passion, had kicked over the chair 
with his military boot. By this unprovoked and unjusti- 
fiable act, our venerable friend had suffered a fracture of 
one of its rungs. 

" But," said Grandfather, " our chair, after all, was 
not destined to spend the remainder of its days in the 
inglorious obscurity of a garret. Thomas Hutchinson, 
lieutenant-governor of the province, was told of Sir 
Francis Bernard's design. This gentl'eman was more 
familiar with the history of New England than any other 
man alive. He knew all the adventures and vicissitudes 
through Avhich the old chair had passed, and could have 
told as accurately as your own Grandfather who were the 
personages that had occupied it. Often, while visiting 
at the Province House, he had eyed the chair w^ith admi- 
ration, and felt a longing desire to become the possessor 
of it. He now waited upon Sir Eraucis Bernard, and 
easily obtained leave to carry it home." 

" And I hope," said Clara, " he had it varnished and 
gilded anew." 

" No," answered Grandfather. ""What Mr. Hutchin- 
son desired was, to restore the chair as much as possible to 
its original aspect, such as it had appeared when it was 
first made out of the Earl of Lincoln's oak-tree. Eor this 
purpose he ordered it to be well scoured with soap and 
sand and polished with wax, and then provided it with a 
substantial leather cushion. "VYhen all was completed to 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR, 139 

his nuiicl lie sat down in tlis old cliair, and began to write 
his H story of Massacliusatts." 

" O, tliat was a briglit thought in Mr. Hutchinson!" 
exclaimed Laurence. "And no doubt the dim figures of 
the former possessors of the chair flitted around him as 
he wrote, and inspired him with a knowledge of all that 
they had done and suffered while on earth." 

" Wliy, my dear Laurence," replied Grandfather, smil- 
ing?, " if Mr. Hutchinson was favored with any such ex- 
traordinary inspiration, he made but a poor use of it in 
his history ; for a duller piece of composition never came 
from any man's pen. However, he was accurate, at 
least, though far from possessing the brilliancy or philos- 
ophy of Mr. Bancroft." 

" But if Hutchinson knew the history of the chair," re- 
joined Laurence, "his heart must have been stirred by it." 

"It must, indeed," said Grandfather. "It would be 
entertaining and instructive, at the present day, to im- 
agine what were Mr. Hutchinson's thoughts as he looked 
back upon the long vista of events with which this chair 
was so remarkably connected." 

And Grandfather allowed his fancy to shape out an 
image of Lieutenant-Governor Hutchinson, sitting in an 
evening revery by his fireside, and meditating on the 
changes that had slowly passed around the chair. 

A devoted monarchist, Hutchinson would heave no 
sigh for the subversion of the original republican govern- 
ment, the purest that Ihe world had seen, with which the 
colony began its existence. While reverencing the grim 
and stern old Puritans as tlie founders of his native laud, 
he would not wish to recall them from their graves, nor 
to awaken again that king-resisting spirit which he im- 
agined to be laid asleep with them forever. Winthrop, 
Dadley, Bellingham, Endicott, Leverett, and Bradstreet, 



140 GUAXDFATHEirS CHAIR. 

— all these liad had tlieir day. Ages might come and go, 
but never again would the people's suilVages ])lace a re- 
publican governor in their ancient chair of state. 

Coming, down to llie epocli of the second charter, 
Hutchinson thought of the ship-carpenter Phipps, spring- 
ing from the lowest of the people and attaining to the 
loftiest station in the land. But he smiled to perceive 
that this governor's example would awaken no turbulent 
auibition in the lower orders ; for it was a king's gracious 
boon alone that made the ship-carpenter a ruler. Hutch- 
inson rejoiced to mark the gradual growth of an aristo- 
cratic chiss, to whom the common people, as in duty 
bound, w'ere learning humbly to resign the honors, emol- 
uments, and authority of state. He saw — or else de- 
ceived himself — ihat, throughout this epoch, the people's 
disposition to self-government had been growing weaker 
through long disuse, and now existed only as a faint 
traditionary feeling. 

Tlie lieutenant-governor's revery had now come down 
to tlie period at wliicli he himself was sitting in the his- 
toric chair. He endeavored to throw his glance forward 
over the coming years. There, probably, he saw visions 
of hereditary rank for himself and other aristocratic col- 
onists. He saw tiie fertile fields of New England pro- 
portioned out among a few great landholders, and de- 
scending by entail from generation to generation. He 
saw the people a race of tenantry, dependent on their 
lords. He saw stars, garters, coronets, and castles. 

" But," added Grandfather, turning to Laurence, "the 
lieutenant-governor's castles were built nowhere but 
among the red embers of the fire before which he was 
sitting. And, just as he had constructed a baronial resi- 
dence for himself and his posterity, the fire rolled down 
upon the hearth and crumbled it to ashes ! " 



GRANDFATHER'S' CHAIR. 141 

Grandfcither now looked at his watch, M'hich hung 
within a beautiful little ebony teinj)le, supported by four 
Ionic coiunnis. lie then laid his hand on the golden 
locks of little Alice, whose head had sunk down upon the 
arm of our illustrious chair. 

" To bed, to bed, dear child ! " said he. " Grand- 
father has put you to sleep already by his stories about 
these FAMOUS old people." 




GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 



PART III. 



CHAPTER I. 



N the evening of New- Year's clay Grandfather 
'•Jvi^ilj was walking to and fro across the carpet, listen- 
^^^Mij ing to the rain which beat hard against the cur- 
tauied windows. The riotous blast shook the casement 
as if a strong man were striving to force his entrance 
into the comforiable room. With every pufp of the wind 
the fire leaped upward from the hearth, laughing and re- 
joicing at the shrieks of the wintry storm. 

Meanwhile Grandfather's chair stood in its customary 
place by the fireside. The bright blaze gleamed upon 
the fantastic figures of its oaken back, and shone through 
the open work, so tliat a complete pattern was thrown 
upon the opposite side of the room. Sometimes, for a 
moment or two, the shadow remained immovable, as if 
it were painted on the wall. Then all at once it began 
to quiver, and leap, and dance with a frisky motion. 
Anon, seeming to remember that these antics were un- 
worthy of such a dignified and venerable chair, it sud- 
denly stood still. But soon it began to dance anew. 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 143 

" Only see how Graml father's chair is dancing ! " cried 
litlle Alice. 

And she ran to the wall and tried to catch hold of the 
flickering shadow ; for, to children of fiv^e years old, a 
shadow seems almost as real as a .substance. 

" I wish," said Clara, " Grandfather would sit down in 
the chair and finish its history." 

If the children had been looking at Grandfather, they 
would have noticed that he paused in his walk across the 
room when Clara made this remark. The kind old gen- 
tleman was ready and willing to resume his stories of 
d -parted times. But he had resolved to wait till his 
auditors should request him to proceed, in order that 
they might find the instructive history of the chair a 
pleasure, and not a task. 

" Grandfather," said Charley, " I am tired to death of 
this dismal rain and of hearing the wind roar in the 
chimney. I have had no good time all day. It would 
be better to hear stories about the chair than to sit doing 
nothing and thinking of notliing." 

To say the truth, our friend Charley was very much 
out of humor with the storm, because it had kept him 
all day within doors, and hindered him from making a 
trial of a splendid sled, which Grandfather had given 
him for a New- Year's gift. As all sleds, nowadays, 
must have a name, the one in question had been honored 
with the title of Grandfather's chair, which was painted 
in golden letters on each of the sides, Charley greatly 
admired the construction of the new vehicle, and felt 
certain that it would outstrip any other sled that ever 
dashed adown the long slopes of the Common. 

As for Laurence, he happened to be thinking, just at 
this moment, about the history of the chair. Kind old 
Grandfalher had made liiui a present of a volume of eu- 



144 GUANDFATHEB'S CHAIR. 

graved portraits, representing the features of eminent 
and famous people of all countries. Among them Lau- 
rence found several who had formerly occupied our chair 
or been connected with its adventures. While Grand- 
father w^alked to and. fro across the room, the imaginative 
boy w^as gazing at the historic chair. He endeavored to 
summon up the portraits w^hich he had seen in iiis volume, 
and to place tiiem, like living figures, in the empty seat. 

"The old chair has begun another year of its exist- 
ence, to-day," said Laurence. " We must make haste, 
or it will have a new history to be told before we finish 
the old one." 

" Yes, my children," replied Grandfather, with a smile 
and a sigh, " another year has been added to those of the 
two centuries and upward which have passed since the 
Lady Arbella brought this chair over from England, 
It is three times as old as your Grandfather; but a year 
makes no impression on its oaken frame, while it bends 
the old man nearer and nearer to the earth; so let me go 
on with my stories while I may." 

Accordingly Grandfather came to the fireside and 
seated himself in tiie venerable chair. The lion's liead 
looked dowqi with a grimly good-natured aspect as the 
children clustered around the old gentleman's knees. It 
almost seemed as if a real lion were peeping over the 
back of the chair, and smiling at the group of auditors 
with a sort of lion-like complaisance. Little Alice, whose 
fancy often inspired her Avith singular ideas, exclaimed 
that the lion's head was nodding at her, and that it looked 
as if it were going to open its wide jaws and tell a story. 

But as the lion's head appeared to be in no haste to 
speak, and as there was no record or tradition of its hav- 
ing spoken during the whole existence of the chair, 
Grandfather did not consider it worth while to wait. 



CHAPTER II. 




HARLEY, my boy," said Grandfather, " do you 
remember who was the last occupant of the 
chair ? " 

" It was Lieutenant-Governor Hutchinson," answered 
Charley. " Sir Erancis Bernard, the new governor, had 
given him the chair, instead of putting it away in the 
garret of the Province House. And when we took 
leave of Hutchinson he was sitting by his fireside, and 
thinking of the past adventures of the chair and of 
wliat was to come." 

" Very well," said Grandfather ; " and you recollect 
that this was in 1703, or thereabouts, at the close of 
tlie old Erench war. Now, that you may fully com- 
prehend the remaining adventures of ihe chair, I must 
make some brief remarks on the situation and character 
of the New England colonies at this period." 

So Grandfather spoke of tlie earnest loyalty of our 
fathers during the old Erench war, and after the con- 
quest of Canada had brought that war to a triumphant 
close. 

The people loved and reverenced the King of England 

even more than if tlie ocean had not rolled its waves 

between him and them ; for, at the distance of three 

thousand miles, lliey could not discover his bad qualities 

7 J 



146 GEAXDrATIIER'S CHAIR. 

and imperfections. Their love was increased bj the 
dangers whicli they had encountered in order to heighten 
liis glory and extend his dominion. Throughout tlie 
Avar the 'American colonists had fought side by side with 
the soldiers of Old England ; and u( arly thirty thousand 
young men had laid down their lives for ihe honor of 
King George. And the survivors loved liim tlie better 
because they had done and suffered so much for his 
sake. 

But there were some circumstances that caused Amer- 
ica to feel more independent of England than at an 
earlier period. Canada and Acadia had now become 
British provinces ; and our fathers were no longer afraid 
of the bands of French and Indians who used to assault 
them in old times. For a centui-y and a half this had 
been the great terror of New England, Now the old 
French soldier was driven from th3 North forever. And 
even had it been otherwise, llie English colonies were 
growing so populous and powerful, that they might have 
lelt fully able to protect themselves without any help 
from England, 

There were thoughtful and sagacious men, who began 
to doubt whether a great country like America would 
always be content to remain under the government of 
an island three thousand miles away. This was the 
more doubtful, because the English Parliament had long 
ago made laws which were intended to be very beneficial 
to England at the expense of America, By these laws 
the colonists were forbidden to manufacture articles for 
their own use, or to carry on trade with any nation but 
the English, 

"Now," continued Grandfather, "if King George 
III, and his counsellors had considered these things 
wisely, they would have taken another course than they 



GRANDFATHilil'S CHAIR. 147 

did. But vrhen they saw 'jow rich and populous the 
colonies had grown, their lirst thought was liow they 
might make more profit out of thein than lieretofore. 
England was enormously in debt at the close of the old 
French war; and it Avas pretended that this debt had 
been contracted for the defence of the American colonies, 
and that, therefore, a part of it ought to be paid by 
them." 

" Why, this was nonsense ! " exclaimed Charley. " Did 
not our fiithers spend their lives, and their money too, to 
get Canada for King George ? " 

" True, they did," said Grandfather ; " and they told the 
English rulers so. But the king and his ministers would 
not listen to good advice. In 1705 the British Parlia- 
ment passed a Stamp Act." 

" What was that ? " inquired Cliarley. 

" The Stamj) Act," replied Grandfather, " was a law by 
which all deeds, bonds, and other pay)ers of the same 
kind were ordered to be marked with the king's stamp ; 
and without this mark they were declared illegal and 
void. Now, in order to get a blank sheet of paper with 
the king's stamp upon it, people were obliged to pay 
threepence more than the actual value of the paper. 
And this extra sum of threepence was a tax, and was to 
be paid into the king's treasury." 

" I am sure threepence was not worth quarrelling 
about ! " remarked Clara. 

" It was not for threepence, nor for any amount of 
money, that America quarrelled with England," replied 
Grandfather ; " it was for a great principle. The col- 
onists were determined not to be taxed except by their 
own representatives. They said that neither the king and 
Parliament, nor any other power on earth, had a right to 
take their money out of their pockets unless thsy freely 



148 GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 

gave it. And, rather than pay threepence when it was 
unjustly demanded, they resolved to sacrifice all the 
wealth of the country, and their lives along with it. 
They therefore made a most stubborn resistance to the 
Stamp Act." 

" That was noble ! " exclaimed Laurence. " I under- 
stand how it was. If they had quietly paid the tax of 
threepence, they would have ceased to be freemen, and 
would have become tiibutaries ot" England. And so they 
contended about a great question of right and wrong, 
and put everything at stake for it;" 

"You are riglit, Laurence," said Grandfather, "and 
it was really amazing and terrible to see what a change 
came over the aspect of the people the nioment the Eng- 
lish Parliament had passed this oppressive act. The 
former history of our chair, my children, has given you 
some idea of what a harsh, unyieldhig, stern set of men 
tlie old Puritans were. Eor a good many years back, 
however, it had seemed as if these characteristics were 
disappearing. But no sooner did England offer wrong 
to the colonies tlian the descendants of the early settlers 
proved that they had the same kind of temper as their 
forefathers. The moment before, New England appeared 
like a humble and loyal subject of tlie crown ; the next 
instant she showed the grim, dark features of an old 
king-resisting Puritan." 

Grandfather spoke briefly of the public measures that 
were taken in opposition to the Stamp Act. As this law 
affected all the American colonies alike, it naturally led 
them to think of consulting together in order to procure 
its repeal. Eor this purpose the Legislature of Massachu- 
setts proposed that delegates from every colony should 
meet in Congress. Accordingly nine colonies, both 
Northern and Southern, sent delegates to the city of 
New York. 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 149 

" And did they consult about going to war with Eng- 
land?" asked Charley. 

" No, Charley," answered Grandfather ; " a great deal 
of talking was yet to be done before England and Amer- 
ica could come to blows. The Congress stated the rights 
and grievances of the colonists. They sent a humble pe- 
tition to the king, and a memorial to the Parliament, 
beseeching that the Stamp Act might be repealed. This 
was all that the delegates had it in their power to do." 

"They might as well have stayed at home, then," said 
Charley. 

" By no means," replied Grandfather. " It was a most 
important and memorable event, this first coming together 
of the American peo[)le by their representatives from the 
North and South. If England had been wise, she would 
have trembled at the first word that was spoken in such 
an assembly." 

These remonstrances and petitions, as Grandfather ob- 
served, were the work of grave, thoughtful, and prudent 
men. Meantime the young and hot-headed people went 
to work in their own way. It is probai)le that the peti- 
tions of Congress would have had little or no effect ou 
the British statesmen if the violent deeds of the American 
people had not shown how much excited the people were. 
Liberty Tree was soon heard of in England. 

" What was Liberty Tree ? " inquired Clara. 

" It was an old elm-tree," answered Grandfather, 
" which stood near the corner of Essex Street, opposite 
the Boylston Market. Under the spreading branches of 
this great tree the people used to assemble whenever they 
wished to express their feelings and opinions. Thus, 
after a while, it seemed as if the liberty of the country 
was connected with Liberty Tree." 

" It was glorious fruit for a tree to bear," remarked 
Laurence. 



150 GHANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 

" It bore strange fruit, sometimes," said Grandfather. 
" One morning in August, 1765, two figures were found 
hanging on the sturdy branches of Liberty Tree. They 
were dressed in square-skirted coats aud small-clothes ; 
and, as their wigs hung down over their faces, tliey 
looked like real men. One was intended to represent 
the Earl of Bute, w^ho was supposed to have advised the 
king to tax America. The other was meant for the 
effigy of Andrew Oliver, a gentleman belonging to oue 
of the most respectable families in Massachusetts." 

" What harm had he done ? " inquired Charley. 

"The king had appointed him to be distributor of the 
stamps," answered Grandfather. " Mr. Oliver would 
liave made a great deal of money by tliis business. But 
the people friglitened him so much by hanging him in 
effigy, and afterwards by breaking into his house, that 
he promised to have nothing to do with the stamps. 
And all the king's friends throughout America were com- 
pelled to make the same promise." 




CHAPTER III. 



.1 



TEUTENANT - GOVERNOR HUTCHIN- 
SON," continued Grand lather, "now began to 
be unquiet iu onr old chair. He had formerly 
been mucli respected and beloved by the people, and 
had often proved himself a friend to their interests. But 
the time was come when he could not be a friend to the 
people without ceasing to be a friend to the king. It 
Avas pretty generally understood that Hutchinson would 
act according to the king's wishes, right or wrong, like 
most of the other gentlemen who held offices under the 
crown. Besides, as he was brother-in-law of Andrew 
Oliver, the people now felt a particular dislike to him." 

"I should think," said Laurence, "as Mr. Hutch- 
inson had written the history of our Puritan forefathers, 
he would have known what the temper of the people 
was, and so have taken care not to wrong them." 

" He trusted in the might of the King of England," 
replied Grandfather, " and thought himself safe under 
tlie shelter of the throne. If no dispute had arisen be- 
tween the king and the people, Hutchinson would have 
had the character of a wise, good, and patriotic magis- 
trate. But, from the time that he took part against the 
rights of his country, the people's love and respect were 
turned to scorn and hatred, and be never had another 
hour of peace." 



152 GrtAXDFATIIER'S CIIATTl. 

Ill order to sliow what a fierce and d-iiifrcrops spirit 
was now aroused anioiiG: llie iuliahitaiits, Gi'aiidCulher re- 
lated a passage from history which wc shall call 

THE HUTCHINSON MOB. 

On the evening of the 2Gth of August, 1765, a bonfire 
"was kindled in King Street. It flamed high upward, 
and threw a ruddy light over the front of the Town 
House, on which was displayed a carved representation 
of the royal arms. The gilded vane of the cupola glit- 
tered in the blaze. The kindling of this bonfire was the 
well-known signal for the populace of Boston to assemble 
in the street. 

Before the tar-barrels, of which the bonfire was made, 
were half burned out, a great crowd had come together. 
They were chiefly laborers and seafaring men, together 
with many young apprentices, and all those idle people 
about town who are ready for any kind of mischief. 
Doubtless some school-boys were among them. 

While these rough figures stood round the blazing bon- 
fire, you might hear them speaking bitter words against 
the high officers of the province. Governor Bernard, 
Hutchinson, Oliver, Storey, Hallo well, and other men 
whom King George delighted to honor, were reviled as 
traitors to the country. Now and then, perhaps, an offi- 
cer of the crown passed along the street, wearing the 
gold-laced hat, white wig, and embroidered waistcoat 
which were the fashion of the day. But when the peo- 
ple beheld him they set up a wild and angry howl ; and 
their faces had an evil aspect, which was made more 
terrible by the flickering bhze of the bonfire. 

" I should like to tlirow the traitor right into that 
blaze ! " perhaps one fierce rioter would say. 



GRANDFATHETl'S CHAIR. 153 

" Yes ; and all liis brethren too ! " another might reply ; 
"and the governor and old Tommy Hutchinson into the 
hottest of it ! " 

" And the Earl of Bute along with them ! " muttered 
a third ; " and burn the whole pack of tliem uuder King 
George's nose ! No matter if it singed him ! " 

Some such expressions as these, either shouted aloud 
or muttered uuder the breath, were doubtless heard in 
King Street. Tiie mob, meanwiiile, were growing fiercer 
and fiercer, and seemed ready even to set the town on 
fire for the sake of burning the king's friends out of 
house and home. And yet, angry as they were, they 
sometimes broke into a loud roar of laughter, as if mis- 
chief and destruction were their sport. 

But we must now leave the rioters for a time, and 
take a peep into the lieutenant-governor's splendid man- 
sion. It was a large brick house, decorated with Ionic 
pilasters, and stood in Garden Court Street, near the 
North Square. 

While the angry mob in King Street were shouting 
his name, Lieutenant-Governor Hutchinson sat quietly 
in Grandfather's chair, unsuspicious of the evil that 
was about to fall upon his head. His beloved family 
were in the room with liim. He had thrown off his 
embroidered coat and powdered wig, and had on a 
loose-flowing gown and purple-velvet cap. He had hke- 
wise laid aside the cares of state and all the thoughts 
that had wearied and perplexed him throughout the 
day. 

Perhaps, in the enjoyment of his home, he had forgotten 
all about tiie Stamp Act, and scarcely remembered that 
there was a king, across the ocean, who had resolved to 
make tributaries of the New-Englanders. Possibly, too, 
he had forgotten his own ambition, and would not have 
7* 



154 GRAXDFATHEE'S CHAIR. 

exdianged his situation, at that moment, to be governor, 
or even a lord. 

The wax candles were now liglited, and showed a hand- 
some room, well provided with rich furniture. On the 
walls hung the pictures of Hutchinson's ancestors, who 
had been eminent men in their day and were honorably 
remembered in the history of the country. Every object 
served to mark the residence of a rich, aristocratic gentle- 
man, who held himself high above the common people, 
and could have notliiug to fear from them. In a corner 
of the room, thrown carelessly upon a chair, were the 
scarlet robes of the chief justice. Tiiis high office, as 
well as those of lieutenant-governor, councillor, and 
judge of probate, was filled by Hutchinson. 

Who or what could disturb the domestic quiet of such 
a great and powerful personage as now sat in Grand- 
father's chair ? 

The lieutenant-governor's favorite daughter sat by his 
side. She leaned on the arm of our great chair, and 
looked up affectionately into her father's face, rejoicing 
to perceive that a quiet smile was on his lips. But sud- 
denly a shade came across her countenance. She seemed 
to listen attentively, as if to catch a distant sound. 

" What is the matter, my child ? " inquired Hutchinson. 

" Father, do not you hear a tumult in the streets ? " 
said she. 

The lieutenant-governor listened. But his ears were 
duller than those of his daughter; he could hear nothing 
more terrible than the sound of a summer breeze, sighing 
among the tops of the elm-trees. 

" No, foolish child ! " he replied, playfully patting her 
cheek. "There is no tumult. Our Boston mobs are 
satisfied with what mischief they have already done. The 
king's friends need not tremble." 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 155 

So Hutchiusoii resumed his pleasant and peaceful medi- 
tations, and ai^ain forgot that there were any troubles in 
the world. But his family were alarmed, and could not 
help straining their ears to catch the slightest sound. 
More and more distinctly they heard shouts, and then 
the trampling of many feet. While they were listening, 
one of the neighbors rushed breathless into the room. 

" A mob ! a terrible mob ! " cried he. " They have 
broken into Mr. Storey's house, and into Mr. Hallo- 
well's, and have made themselves drunk with the liquors 
in his cellar; and now they are coining hither, as wild as 
so many tigers. Elee, lieutenant-governor, for your life ! 
for your life ! " 

" Father, dear father, make haste ! " shrieked his chil- 
dren. 

But Hutchinson would not hearken to them. He was 
an old lawyer ; and he could not realize that the people 
would do anything so utterly lawless as to assault him 
in his peaceful home. He was one of King George's 
chief officers ; and it would be an insult and outrage 
upon the king himself if the lieutenant-governor should 
suffer any wrong. 

" Have no fears on my account," said he. " I am per- 
fectly safe. The king's name shall be my protection." 

Yet he bade his family retire into one of the neighbor- 
ing houses. His daughter would have remained ; but he 
forced her away. 

The huzzas and riotous uproar of the mob were now 
heard, close at hand. The sound was terrible, and struck 
Hutchinson with the same sort of dread as if an enraged 
wild beast had broken loose and were roaring for its 
prey. He crept softly to the window. There he beheld 
an immense concourse of people, filling all the street and 
rolling onward to his house. It was like a tempestuous 



156 GrvAXDFATHER'S CHAIR. 

flood, that had swelled beyond its bounds and would 
sweep everything before it. Hutchinson trembled; he 
felt, at that moment, that the wrath of the people was a 
thousand-fold more terrible than the wrath of a king. 

That was a moment when a loyalist and an aristocrat 
like Hutchinson might have learned how powerless are 
kings, nobles, and great men, when the low and humble 
range themselves against them. King George could do 
nothing for his servant now. Had King George been 
there he could have done nothing for himself. If Hutch- 
inson had understood this lesson, and remembered it, he 
need not, in after years, have been an exile from his na- 
tive country, nor finally have laid his bones in a distant 
land. 

There was now a rush against the doors of the house. 
The people sent up a hoarse cry. At this instant the 
lieutenant-governor's daughter, whom he had supposed 
to be in a place of safety, ran into the room and threw 
her arms around him. She had returned by a private 
entrance. 

" Father, are you mad ? " cried she. " Will the 
king's name protect you now ? Come with me, or they 
will have your life." 

"True," muttered Hutchinson to himself; "what care 
these roarers for the name of king? I must flee, or they 
will trample me down on the floor of my own dwelling." 

Hurrying away, he and his daughter made their escape 
by the private ])assage at the moment when the rioters 
broke into the house. The foremost of them rushed up 
.the staircase, and entered the room which Hutchinson 
had just quitted. There they beheld our good old chair 
facing them with quiet dignity, while the lion's head 
seemed to move its jaws in the unsteady light of their 
torches. Perhaps the stately aspect of our venerable 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 157 

friend, which had stood firm through a century and a 
lialf of trouble, arrested tliem for an instant. But they 
were thrust forward by those behind, and the chair lay 
overthrown. 

Then began the work of destruction. The carved and 
polished mahogany tables were shattered with heavy 
clubs and hewn to splinters with axes. The marble 
hearths and mantel-piecas were broken. The volumes of 
Hutchinson's library, so ])recious to a studious man, 
were torn out of their covers, and the leaves sent ilying 
out of the windows. Manuscripts, containing secrets of 
our country's history, which are now lost forever, were 
scattered to the winds. 

The old ancestral portraits, whose fixed countenances 
looked down on the wild scene, were rent from the 
wails. The mob triumphed in their downfall and de- 
struction, as if these pictures of Hutchinson's forefathers 
had conunitted the same offences as their descendant. 
A tall looking-glass, which had hitherto })resented a 
reflection of the enraged and drunken multitude, was 
now smashed into a thousand fragments. We gladly 
dismiss the scene from the mirror of our fancy. 

Before morning dawned the walls of the house were 
all that remained. The interior was a dismal scene of 
ruin. A shower pattered in at the broken windows ; 
and when Hutchinson and his fomily returned, they 
stood shivering in the same room where the last evening 
had seen them so peaceful and happy. 

" Grandfather," said Laurence, indignantly, " if the 
people acted in this manner, they were not worthy of 
even so much liberty as the King of England was will- 
ing to allow them." 

" It was a most unjustifiable act, like many other 



158 GRAXDFATIIER'S CHAIR. 

popular movements at that time," replied Grandfallicr. 
"But we must not decide against llie juslice of the 
people's cause merely because an excited mob was guilty 
of outrageous violence. Besides, all these things were 
done in the first fury of resentment. Afterwards the 
people grew more calm, and were more influenced by 
the counsel of those wise and good men who conducted 
them safely and gloriously through the Revolution." 

Little Alice, with tears in hei- blue eyes, said that she 
hoped the neighbors had not let Lieutenant-Governor 
Hutchinson and his family be homeless in the street, but 
had taken them into their houses and be?n kind to them. 
Cousin Clara, recollecting the perilous situation of our 
beloved chair, inquired what had become of it. 

" Nothhig was heard of our chair for some time after- 
wards," answered Grandfather. " One day, in Septem- 
ber, the same Andrew Oliver, of whom I before told you, 
was summoned to appear at high noon under Liberty 
Tree. Tiiis was the strangest summons that had ever 
been heard of; for it was issued in the name of the whole 
people, who thus took upon themselves the authority of a 
sovereign power. Mr. Oliver dared not disobey. Ac- 
cordingly, at the appointed hour he went, much against 
his Avill, to Liberty Tree." 

Here Charley interposed a remark that poor Mr. Oliver, 
found but little liberty under Liberty Tree. Grandfather 
assented. 

" It was a stormy day," continued he. " The equinoc- 
tial gale blew violently, and scattered the yellow leaves of 
Liberty Tree all along the street. Mr. Oliver's wig was 
dripping witb water-drops ; and he probably looked hag- 
gard, disconsolate, and humbled to the earth. Beneath 
the tree, in Grandfather's chair, — our own venerable 
chair, — sat Mr. Richard Dana, a justice of the peace. 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 159 

He administered an oatli to Mr. Oliver that he would 
never have anything to do with distributing the stamps. 
A vast concourse of people heard the oath^ and shouted 
when it was taken." 

" There is something grand in this," said Laurence. 
" I like it, because the people seem to have acted with 
thoughtfulness and dignity; and this proud gentleman, 
one of his Majesty's high officers, was made to feel that 
King George could not protect him in doing wrong." 

" But it was a sad day for poor Mr. Oliver," observed 
Grandfather. " From his youth upward it had probably 
been the great principle of his life to be faithful and obe- 
dient to the king. And now, in his old age, it must have 
puzzled and distracted him to find the sovereign people 
setting up a claim to his faith and obedience." 

Grandfather closed the evening's conversation by say- 
ing that the discontent of America was so great, that, in 
176G, the British Parliament was compelled to repeal the 
Stamp Act. The people made great rejoicings, but took 
care to keep Liberty Tree well pruned and free from cat- 
erpillars and canker-worms. They foresaw that there 
might yet be occasion for them to assemble under its far- 
projecting shadow. 




CHAPTEH IV. 




HE next evening, Clara, who remembered tliat 
our cliair had been left standing in the rain un- 
der Liberty Tree, earnestly besought Grand- 
father to tell when and where it had next found shelter. 
Perhaps she was afraid that the venerable chair, by being 
exposed to the inclemency of a September gale, might 
get the rheumatism in its aged joints. 

"The chair," said Grandfather, "after the ceremony 
of Mr. Oliver's oath, appears to have been quite for- 
gotten by the multitude. Indeed, being much bruised 
and rather rickety, owing to the violent treatment it had 
suffered from the Hutchinson mob, most people would 
have thought that its days of usefulness were over. 
Nevei-theless, it was conveyed away under cover of the 
night and committed to the care of a skilful joiner. 
He doctored our old friend so successfully, that, in the 
course of a few days, it made its appearance in the pub- 
lic room of the British Coffee House, in King Street." 

" But why did not Mr. Hutchinson get possession of 
it again ? " inquired Charley. 

"I know not," answered Grandfather, "unless he con- 
sidered it a dishonor and disgrace to the chair to have 
stood under Liberty Tree. At all events, he suffered it 
to remain at the British Coffee House, which was the 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 161 

principal hotel in Boston. It could not possibly have 
found a situation where it would be more in the midst of 
business and bustle, or would witness more important 
events, or be occupied by a greater variety of persons." 

Grandfather went on to tell the proceedings of the 
despotic king and ministry of England after the repeal of 
the Stamp Act. They could not bear to think that their 
right to tax America should be disputed by the people. 
In the year 1767, therefore, they caused Parliament to 
pass an act for laying a duty on tea and some other 
articles that were in general use. Nobody could now 
buy a pound of tea without p^iynig a tax to King George. 
Tills scheme was pretty craftily contrived ; for the women 
of America were very fond of tea, and did not like to 
give up the use of it. 

But the people were as much opposed to this new act 
of Parliament as they had been to tlie Stamp Act. Eng- 
land, however, was determined that they should submit. 
In order to compel their obedience, two regiments, con- 
sisting of more than seven hundred British soldiers, were 
sent to Boston. They arrived in September, 1768, and 
were landed on Long Wharf. Thence tliey marched to 
tlie Common w^ith loaded muskets, fixed bayonets, and 
great pomp and parade. So now, at last, the free town 
of Boston was guarded and overawed by redcoats as it 
bad been in the days of old Sir Edmund Andros. 

In the month of November more regiments arrived. 
There were now four thousand troops in Boston. The 
Common was whitened with their tents. Some of the 
soldiers were lodged in Faneuil Hall, which the inhabi- 
tants looked upon as a consecrated place, because it had 
been the scene of a great many meetings in favor of lib- 
erty. One regiment was placed in the Town House, 
which we now call the Old State House. The lower 



162 GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 

floor of this edifice liad liitlierto been used by tlie mer- 
cliaiits as an exchange. In the upper stories were tlie 
chambers of the judges, the representatives, and the gov- 
ernor's council. Tiie venerable councillors could not 
assemble to consult about the welfare of the province 
without being challenged by sentinels and passing among 
the bayonets of the British soldiers. 

Sentinels likewise were posted at the lodgings of the 
officers in many parts of the town. AYlien the inhabi- 
tants approached they were greeted by the sharp ques- 
tion, " Who goes there ? " while the rattle of the soldier's 
musket was heard as he presented it against their breasts. 
There was no quiet even on the Sabbath day. The pious 
descendants of the Puritans were shocked by the uproar 
of military music ; the drum, fife, and bugle drowning the 
holy organ peal and the voices of the singers. It would 
appear as if the British took every method to insult the 
feelings of the people. 

" Grandfather," cried Charley, impatiently, " the peo- 
ple did not go to fighting half soon enough ! These 
British redcoats ought to have been driven back to their 
vessels the very moment they landed on Long Wharf." 

"Many a hot-headed young man said the same as 
you do, Charley," answered Grandfather. "But the 
elder and wiser people saw that the time was not yet 
come. Meanwhile, let us take another peep at our old 
chair." 

"Ah, it drooped its head, I know," said Charley, 
"when it saw how the province was disgraced. Its old 
Puritan friends never would have borne such doings." 

" The chair," proceeded Grandfather, " was now con- 
tinually occupied by some of the high torics, as the king's 
friends were called, who frequented the British Coffee 
House. Officers of the Custom House, too, which stood 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 163 

on tlie opposite side of King Street, often sat in the clmir 
■vragging their tongues against John Hancock." 

" Why against him ? " asked Charley. 

"Because he was a great merchant and contended 
against paying duties to the king," said Grandfather. 

" Well, frequently, no doubt, the ofl&cers of the Brit- 
isli regiments, when not on duty, used to fling them- 
selves into the arms of our venerable chair. Fancy one 
of them, a red-nosed captain in his scarlet uniform, play- 
ing with the hilt of his sword, and making a circle of his 
brother officers merry with ridiculous jokes at the ex- 
pense of the poor Yankees. And perhaps he would call 
for a bottle of wine, or a steaming bowl of punch, and 
drink confusion to all rebels." 

"Our grave old chair must have been scandalized at 
such scenes," observed Laurence ; " the chair that iiad 
been the Lady Arbella's, and which the holy apostle 
EHot had consecrated." 

"It certainly was little less than sacrilege," replied 
Grandfather; "but the time was coming when even the 
churches, where hallowed pastors had long preached the 
word of God, were to be torn down or desecrated by the 
British troops. Some years passed, however, before such 
things were done." 

Grandfather now told his auditors that, in 1709, Sir 
Francis Bernard went to England after having been gov- 
ernor of Massachusetts ten years. He was a gentleman 
of many good qualities, an excellent scholar, and a friend 
to learning. But lie was naturally of an arbitrary dispo- 
sition; and he had been bred at the University of Ox- 
ford, where young men were taught that the divine right 
of kings was the only thing to be regarded in matters of 
government. Such ideas were ill adapted to please the 
people of Massachusetts. They rejoiced to get rid of 



164 GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 

Sir Francis Bernard, but liked his successor, Lieutenant- 
Governor Hutchinson, no better than himself. 

About tills period the people were much incensed at 
an act committed by a person who held an office in the 
Custom House. Some lads, or young men, were snow- 
balling his windows. He fired a musket at them, and 
killed a poor German boy, only eleven years old. This 
event made a great noise in town and country, and much 
increased the resentment that was already felt against 
the servants of the crown. 

"Now, children," said Grandfather, "I wish to make 
you comprehend the position of the British .troops in 
King Street. Tliis is the same which we now call State 
Street. On the south side of the Town House, or Old 
State House, was what military men call a court of guard, 
defended by two brass cannons, which ])ointed directly 
at one of the doors of the above edifice. A large party 
of soldiers were always stationed in the court of guard. 
The Custom House stood at a little distance down King 
Street, nearly where the Suffolk Bank now stands, and 
a sentinel was continually pacing before its front." 

"I shall remen)ber this to-morrow," said Charley; 
" and I will go to State Street, so as to see exactly 
where the British troops were stationed." 

"And before long," observed Grandfather, "I shall 
liave to relate an event which made King Street sadly 
famous on both sides of the Atlantic. The history of 
our chair will soon bring us to this melancholy busi- 
ness." 

Here Grandfather described the state of things which 
arose from the ill will that existed between the inhabi- 
tants and the redcoats. The old and sober part of the . 
townspeople were very angry at the government for send- 
iuGT soldiers to overawe them. But those grav-headed 



OrvANDFATHER'S CIIAIU. 1G5 

men were cautious, and kept their tiiouglits and feelings 
in their own breasts, without putting themselves in tlic 
way of the British bayonets. 

The younger people, however, could hardly be kept 
within such prudent limits. They reddened with wrath 
at the very sight of a soldier, and would have been will- 
ing to come to blows with them at any moment. For it 
was their opinion that every tap of a British drum M'ithin 
the penmsula of Boston was an insult to the brave old 
town. 

" It was sometimes the case," continued Grandfather, 
" that affrays happened between such wild young men as 
these and small parties of the soldiers. No weapons had 
hitherto been used except fists or cudgels. But when 
men have loaded muskets in their hands, it is easy to 
foretell that they will soon be turned against the bosoms 
of those who provoke their anger." 

" Grandfather," said little Alice, looking fearfully into 
his face, "your voice sounds as though you were going 
to tell us something awful ! " 




CHAPTEE V. 




I^/,,;|ITTLE ALICE, by lier last remark, proved her- 
self a good judge of what was expressed by the 
tones of Grandfather's voice. He had given the 
above description of the enmity between the townspeople 
and the soldiers in order to prepare the minds of his 
auditors for a very terrible event. It was one that did 
more to heighten ihe quarrel between England and 
America than anything that had yet occurred. 

Without further preface, Grandfather began the story of 



THE BOSTON MASSACRE. 

It was now the 3d of March, 1770. The sunset mus-'c 
of the British regiments was heard as usual throughout 
tiie toW'U. The shrill life and rattling drum awoke the 
echoes in King Street, while the last ray of sunshine w^as 
lingering on the cupola of the Town House. And now 
all the sentinels W'Cre posted. One of them marched up 
and down before the Custom House, treading a short 
path through the snow, and longing for Ihe time when lie 
would be dismissed to the warm tireside of the guard 
room. Meanw'hile Captain Preston Avas, perhaps, sitting 
in our great chair before the hearth of the British Coffee 
House. In the course of the evening there were two or 



GRAXDFATIIER'S CIIAIU. 167 

three slight commotions, wliich seemed to indicate that 
trouble was at liand. Small parties of young men stood 
at tlie corners of the streets or walked along the narrow 
pavements. Squads of soldiers who were dismissed from 
duty passed by them, shoulder to shoulder, with the regu- 
lar step which they had learned at the drill. Whenever 
these encounters took place, it appeared to be the object 
of the young men to treat the soldiers with as much 
incivility as possible. 

" Turn out, you lobsterbacks ! " one would say. 
" Crowd them off the sidewalks ! " another would cry. 
" A redcoat has no right in Boston streets ! " 

" O, you rebel rascals ! " perhaps the soldiers would 
reply, glaring fiercely at the young men. " Some day or 
other we '11 make our way through Boston streets at the 
point of the bayonet ! " 

Once or twice such disputes as these brought on a 
scuffls ; which passed off, however, without attracting 
much notice. About eight o'clock, for some unknown 
cause, an alarm-bell rang loudly and hurriedly. 

At the sound many people ran out of their houses, 
supposing it to be an alarm of fire. But there were no 
flames to be seen ; nor was there any smell of smoke in 
the clear, frosty air; so that most of the townsmen went 
back to their own firesides and sat talking with their 
wives and children about the calamities of the times. 
Others who were younger and less prudent remained in 
the streets ; for there seems to have been a presentiment 
that some strange event was on the eve of taking place. 

Later in the evening, not far from nine o'clock, sev- 
eral young men passed by the Town House and walked 
down King Street. The sentinel was still on his post in 
front of the Custom House, pacing to and fro ; while, as 
he turned, a gleam of light from some neighboring win- 



168 GHANDFATIIEirS CHAIR. 

dow glittered on tlie barrel of his musket. At no great 
distance were the barracks and the guard liouse, where 
his comrades were probably telling stories of battle and 
bloodslied. 

Down towards the Custom House, as I told you, came 
a party of wild young men. When they drew near the 
sentinel he halted on liis post, and took his musket from 
his shoulder, ready to present the bayonet at their breasts. 

" Who goes there ? " he cried, in the gruff, peremp- 
tory tones of a soldier's challenge. 

The young men, being Boston boys, felt as if they had 
a right to walk their own streets without beiug account- 
able to a British redcoat, even though he challenged them 
in King George's name. They made some rude answer to 
the sentinel. There was a dispute, or perhaps a scuffle. 
Otlier soldiers heard the noise, and ran hastily from the 
barracks to assist their comrades. At the same time 
many of the townspeople rushed into King Street by 
various avenues, and gathered in a crowd round about 
the Custom House. It seemed wonderful how such a 
multitude had started up all of a sudden. 

The wrongs and insults which the people had been suf- 
fering for many months now kindled them into a rage. 
They threw snowballs and lumps of ice at the soldiers. 
As the tumult grew louder it reached the ears of Cap- 
tain Preston, the officer of the day. He inmiediately 
ordered eight soldiers of the main guard to take their 
muskets and follow him. They marched across the street, 
forcing their way roughly through the crowd, and prick- 
ing the townspeople with their bayonets. 

A gentleman (it was Henry Knox, afterwards general 
of the American artillery) caught Captain Preston's arm. 

" For Heaven's sake, sir," exclaimed he, " take heed 
■what you do, or there will be bloodshed." 



GEANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 169 

" Stand aside ! " answered Captain Preston, haughtily. 
" Do not interfere, sir. Leave me to manage the alfair." 

Arriving at the sentinel's post, Captain Preston drew 
up his men in a semicircle, with their faces to the crowd 
and their rear to the Custom House. When tiie people 
saw the officer and beheld the threatening attitude with 
which the soldiers fronted t-hem, their rage became almost 
uncontrollable. 

" Fire, you lobsterbacks ! " bellowed some. 

*' You dare not fire^ you cowardly redcoats ! " cried 
others. 

"Rush upon them!" shouted many voices. "Drive 
the rascals to their barracks ! Down with them ! Down 
with them ! Let them fire if they dare ! " 

Amid the uproar, the soldiers stood glaring at the 
people with the fierceness of men whose trade was to shed 
blood. 

O, what a crisis had now arrived ! Up to this very 
moment, the angry feelings between England and Amer- 
ica miglit have been pacified. England had but to stretch 
out the hand of reconciliation, and acknowledge that she 
had hitherto mistaken her rights, but would do so no 
more. Then the ancient bonds of brotherhood would 
again have been knit together as firmly as in old times. 
The habit of loyalty, which had grown as strong as in- 
stinct, was not utterly overcome. The perils shared, 
the victories won, in the old French war, when the sol- 
diers of the colonies fought side by side with their com- 
rades from beyond the sea, were unforgotten yet. Eng- 
land was still that beloved country which the colonists 
called their home. King George, though he had frowned 
upon America, was still reverenced as a father. 

But should the king's soldiers shed one drop of Ameri- 
can blood, then it was a quarrel to the death. Never, 
8 



170 GRANDFATlIEll'S CHAIR. 

never would America rest satisfied until she liad torn 
down the rojal authority and trampled it in the dust, 

" Fire, if you dare, villains ! " hoarsely shouted the 
people, while the muzzles of the muskets were turned 
ujjon them. " You dare not fire ! " 

They appeared ready to rush upon the levelled bayo- 
nets. Captain Preston waved his sword, and uttered a 
command wliich could not be distinctly heard amid the 
uproar of shouts that issued from a hundred throats. 
But his soldiers deemed that he had spoken the fatal 
mandate, "Tire!" The flash of their muskets lighted 
up the street, and the report rang loudly between the 
edifices. It was said, too, that the figure of a man, with 
a cloth hanging down over his face, was seen to step into 
the balcony of the Custom House and discharge a mus- 
ket at the crowd. 

A gush of smoke had overspread the scene. It rose 
heavily, as if it were loath to reveal the dreadful specta- 
cle beneath it. Eleven of the sons of New England lay 
stretched upon the street. Some, sorely wounded, were 
struggling to rise again. Others stirred not nor groaned ; 
for they were past all pain. Blood was streaming upon 
the snow; and that purple stain in the midst of King 
Street, though it melted away in the next day's sun, was 
never forgotten nor forgiven by the people. 

Grandfather was interrupted by tlie violent sobs of 
little Alice. In his earnestness he had neglected to 
soften down the narrative so that it might not terrify the 
heart of this unworldly infant. Since Grandfather began 
the history of our chair, little Alice had listened to many 
tales of war. But probably the idea had never really 
impressed itself upon her mind that men have shed the 
blood of their fellow-creatures. And now that this idea 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAITl. 171 

.•vras forcibly presented to her, it affected tlie sweet child 
with bewilderment and horror. 

"I ought to have remembered our dear little Alice," 
said Grandfather reproachfully to himself. " O, what a 
pity ! Her heavenly nature has now received its first 
impression of eartldy sin and violence. Well, Clara, take 
lier to bed and comfort her. Heaven grant that she may 
dream away the recollection of the Boston massacre ! " 

" Grandfather," said Charley, when Clara and little 
Al C3 had retired, " did not the people rush upon the 
soldiers and take revenge ? " 

" The town drums beat to arms," replied Grandfather, 
*'the alarm-bells rang, and an immense multitude rushed 
into King Street. Many of them had weapons in their 
liaiids. The British prepared to defend themselves. A 
whole regiment was drawn uj) in the street, expecting an 
attack ; for the townsmen appeared ready to throw them- 
selves upon the bayonets." 

"And how did it end? " asked Charley. 

" Governor Hutchinson hurried to the spot," said 
Grandfather, " and besought the people to have patience, 
promising that strict justice should be done. A day or 
two afterward the British troops were withdrawn from 
town and stationed at Castle William. Captain Preston 
and the eight soldiers were tried for murder. But none 
of them were found guilty. The judges told the jury 
that the insults and violence which had been offered to 
the soldiers justified them in firing at the mob." 

*' The Revolution," observed Laurence, who had said 
but little during the evening, " was not such a calm, ma- 
jestic movement as I supposed. I do not love to hear of 
mobs and broils in the street. These things were un- 
worthy of the people when they had such a great object 
to accomplish." 



172 GllAXDFATHER'S CIIAIU. 

" Neverllieless, the world has seen no grander move- 
ment than tliat of our Revolution from first to last," said 
Grandfather. " The people, to a uian, "were full of a great 
and noble sentiment. True, there may be much fault to 
find with their mode of expressing this sentiment ; but 
they knew no better; the necessity was upon them to 
act out their feelings in the best manner they could. 
We must forgive what was wrong in their actions, and 
look into their hearts and minds for the honorable mo- 
tives that impelled them." 

"And I suppose," said Laurence, "there were men 
who knew how to act M'ortliily of what they felt." 

" There were many sucli," replied Grandfather; " and 
we will speak of some of them hereafter." 

Grandfather here made a pause. That night Charley 
had a dream about the Boston massacre, and thought 
that he himself was in the crowd and struck down Cap- 
tain Preston with a great club. Lanrence dreamed that 
he was sitting in our great cliair, at the window of the 
British Coffee House, and beheld the whole scene which 
Grandfather had described. It seemed to him, in his 
dream, that, if the townspeople and the soldiers would 
but have heard him speak a single word, all the slaugh- 
ter might have been averted. But there was such an 
nproar that it drowned his voice. 

The next morning the two boys went togetlier to 
State Street and stood on the very spot where the first 
blood of the Revolution had been shed. The Old State 
House was still there, presenting almost the same aspect 
that it liad worn on that memorable evening, one-and- 
seventy years ago. It is the sole remaining witness of 
the Boston massacre. 



CHAPTER VI. 



wm 



HE next evening the astral lamp was lighted 
earlier than usual, because Laurence was very 
much engaged in looking over the collection of 
portraits which had been his New-Year's gift from 
Grandfather. 

Amoug them he found the features of more than one 
famous persouage who had been connected with the 
adventures of our old chair. Grandfather bade him 
draw the table nearer to the fireside ; and they looked 
over the portraits together, while Clara and Charley 
likewise lent their attention. As for little Alice, she 
sat in Grandfather's lap, and seemed to see the very 
men alive whose faces were there represented. 

Turning over the volume, Laurence came to the por- 
trait of a stern, grim-look iug man, in plain attire, of 
much more modern fashion than that of the old Puritans. 
But the face might M^ell have befitted one of those iron- 
hearted men. B.^neath the portrait was the name of 
Samuel Adams. 

" He was a man of great note in all the doings that 
brought about the Revolution," said Grandfather. " His 
character was such, that it seemed as if one of the 
ancient Puritans had been sent back to earth to ani- 
mate the people's hearts with the same abhorrence of 



174 GEAXDFATIIER'S CHAIU. 

tyranny that had distinguished the earhest settlers. He 
uas as religious as ihey, as stern and inflexible, and as 
deeply imbued with democratic principles. He, better 
than any one else, may be taken as a representative of 
the people of New England, and of the spirit with which 
they engaged in the Revolutionary struggle. He M-as a 
poor man, and earned his bread by a humble occupation ; 
but with his tongue and pen he made the King of 
England tremble on his throne. Remember him, my 
children, as one of the strong men of our country." 

" Here is one whose looks show a very different char- 
acter," observed Laurence, turning to the portrait of 
John Hancock. "I should think, by his splendid dress 
and courtly aspect, that he was one of the king's 
friends." 

" There never was a greater contrast than between 
Samuel Adams and John Hancock," said Grandfather. 
" Yet they were of the same side in politics, and had an 
equal agency in the Revolution. Hancock was born to 
the inheritance of the largest fortune in New England. 
His tastes and habits were aristocratic. He loved gor- 
geous attire, a splendid mansion, magnificent furniture, 
stately festivals, and all that was glittering and pompous 
in external things. His manners Avere so polished that 
there stood not a nobleman at the footstool of King 
George's throne who was a more skilful courtier than 
John Hancock might have been. Nevertheless, he in 
his embroidered clothes, and Samuel Adams in his thread- 
bare coat, wrought together in the cause of liberty. 
Adams acted from pure and rigid principle. Hancock, 
though he loved his country, yet thought quite as much 
of his own popularity as he did of the people's rights. 
It is remarkable that these two men, so very dilFerent as 
I describe them, were the only two exempted from par- 
don by the king's proclamation." 



GRANDFATHEE'S CHAIR. 173 

On the next leaf of the book was tlie portrait of Gen- 
eral Joseph Warren. Charley recognized the name, and 
said that here was a greater man than either Hancock or 
Adams. 

" Warren was an eloquent and able patriot," replied 
Grandfather. " He deserves a lasting memory for his 
zealous efforts in behalf of liberty. No man's voice was 
more powerful in Taneuil Hall than Joseph Warren's. If 
his death had not happened so early in the contest, he 
would probably have gained a high name as a soldier." 

The next portrait was a venerable man, who held his 
tliumb under his chin, and, through his spectacles, ap- 
peared to be attentively reading a manuscript. 

" Here we see the most illiistrions Boston boy that 
ever lived," said Grandfather. " This is Benjamin 
Franklin. But I will not try to compress into a few 
sentences the character of the sage, who, as a Frenchman 
expressed it, snatched the lightning from the sky and 
the sceptre from a tyrant. Mr. Sparks must help you to 
the knowledge of Franklin." 

The book likewise contained portraits of James Otis 
and Josiah Quhicy. Both of them. Grandfather observed, 
weve men of wonderful talents and true patriotism. Their 
voices were like the stirring tones of a trumpet arousing 
the country to defend its freedom. Heaven seemed to 
have provided a greater number of eloquent men than 
li:id appeared at any other period, in order that the peo- 
ple might be fully instructed as to their wrongs and the 
method of resistance. 

" It is marvellous," said Grandfather, " to see how 
many powerful writers, orators, and soldiers started up 
just at tiie time when they were wanted. There was a 
man for every kind of work. It is equally wonderful 
that men of such different characters were all made to 



176 GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 

unite ill the one object of establisliing tlie freedom and 
independence of America. Tiiere was an overruling 
Providence above tliein." 

"Here was another great man," remarked Laurence, 
pointing to tlie portrait of John Adams. 

" Yes ; an earnest, warm-tempered, honest, and most 
able man," said Grandfather. " At the period of which 
we are now speaking he was a lawyer in Boston. He 
was destined in after years to be ruler over the whole 
American people, whom he contributed so much to form 
into a nation." 

Grandfather here remarked that many a New-Eng- 
laiider, wlio had passed his boyhood and youth in obscuri- 
ty, afterward attained to a fortune which he never could 
have foreseen even in his most ambitious dreams. John 
Adams, the second President of tlie United States and 
the equal of crowned kings, was once a schoolmaster and 
country lawyer. Hancock, the first signer of the Dec- 
laration of Independence, served his apprenticeship with 
a merchant. Samuel Adams, afterwards governor of 
Massachusetts, was a small tradesman and a tax-gath- 
erer. General Warren was a physician. General Lincoln 
a farmer, and General Knox a bookbinder. General 
Nathaniel Greene, the best soldier, except Washington, 
in the Revolutionary army, was a Quaker and a black- 
smith. All these became illustrious men, and can never 
be forgotten in American history. 

" And any boy who is born in America may look for- 
ward to the same things," said our ambitious friend 
Charley. 

After these observations. Grandfather drew the book 
of portraits towards him and sliowed the children several 
British peers and members of Parliament who had exerted 
themselves either for or against the rights of America. 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 177 

Tliere were tlie Earl of Bute, Mr. Grenville, and Lord 
North. These were looked upon as deadly enemies to 
our country. 

Among the friends of America was Mr. Pitt, afterward 
Earl of Chatham, who spent so much of his wondrous 
eloquence in endeavoring to warn England of the conse- 
quences of her injustice. He fell down on the floor of the 
House of Lords after uttering almost his dying woids in 
defence of our privileges as freemen. There was Edmund 
Burke, one of the wisest men and greatest orators that 
ever the world produced. There was Colonel Barre, 
who had been among our fathers, and knew that they had 
courage enough to die for their rights. Tliere was 
Charles James Eox, who never rested until he had 
silenced our enemies in the House of Commons. 

" It is very remarkable to observe how many of the 
ablest orators in the British Parliament were favorable 
to America," said Grandfather. "We ought to remem- 
ber these great Englishmen with gratitude; for their 
speeches encouraged our fathers almost as much as those 
of our own orators in Eaneuil Hall and under Liberty 
Tree. Opinions which might have been received with 
doubt, if expressed only by a native American, were set 
down as true, beyond dispute, when they came from the 
lips of Chatham, Burke, Barre, or Pox." 

"But, Grandfather," asked Laurence, "were there no 
able and eloquent men in this country who took the part 
of King George ? " 

" There were many men of talent who said what they 
could in defence of the king's tyrannical proceedings," 
replied Grandfather. " But they had the worst side of 
the argument, and therefore seldom said anything worth 
remembering. Moreover, their hearts -were faint and 
feeble ; for they felt that the people scorned and detested 
8* L 



178 GEAXDFATHER'S CHAIR. 

them. Tliey liad uo frieuds, no defence, except in tlie 
bayonets of the British troops. A blight fell upon all 
their faculties, because they were contending against the 
rights of their own native land." 

" What were the names of some of them ? " inquired 
Charley. 

" Governor Hutchinson, Chief Justice Oliver, Judge 
Auchniuty, the llcvereud Mather Byles, and several 
other clergymen, were among the most noted loyalists," 
answered Graudfather. 

" I wish the people had tarred and feathered every 
man of them ! " cried Charley. 

" That wish is very wrong, Charley," said Grand- 
father. "You must not think that there was uo integ- 
rity and honor except among those who stood up for the 
freedom of America. Tor aught I know, there was 
quite as much of these qualities on one side as on the 
other. Do you see nothing admirable in a faithful ad- 
herence to an unpopular cause ? Can you not respect 
that principle of loyalty which made the royalists give 
up country, friends, fortune, everything, rather than be 
false to their king? It was a mistaken principle; but 
many of them cherished it honorably, and were martyrs 
to it." 

"O, I was wrong!" said Charley, ingenuously. 
"And I would risk my life rather than one of those 
good old royalists should be tarred and feathered."- 

" The time is now come when we may judge fairly of 
them," continued Grandfather. "Be the good and true 
men among them honored ; for they were as much our 
countrymen as the patriots were. And, thank Heaven, 
our country need not be ashamed of her sons, — of most 
of them at least, — whatever side they took in the Rev- 
olutionary contest." 



GHANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 179 

Among tlie portraits was one of King George III. 
Little Alice clapped her liauds, and seemed pleased with 
the bluff good-uature of his physiognomy. But Lau- 
rence thought it strange that a man with such a face, 
indicating hardly a common share of intellect, should 
liave had influence enougli on human afiairs to convulse 
tlie M'orld with war. Grandfalher observed that this 
poor king had always appeared to him one of the most 
unfortunate persons that ever lived. He was so honest 
and conscientious, that, if he had been only a private 
man, his life would })robably have been blameless and 
happy. But his was that worst of fortunes, — to be 
placed in a station far beyond his abilities. 

"And so,'"' said Grandfather, "his life, while he re- 
tained what intellect Heaven had gifted him with, was 
one long mortification. At last he grew crazed with care 
and trouble. For nearly twenty years the monarch of 
England was confined as a madman. In his old age, 
too, God took away his eyesight ; so that his royal 
palace was nothing to him but a dark, lonesome prison- 
house." 








ss 


"M 



CHAPTER YU. 




UR old cliair," resumed Grandfather, " did not 
now stand in tlie midst of a gay circle of British 
officers. The troops, as I told you, liad been 
removed to Castle William immediately after the Boston 
massacre. Still, however, there were many tories, cus- 
tom-house officers, and Englishmen w'lio used to assem- 
ble in the British Coffee House and talk over the affairs 
of the period. Matters grew worse and worse ; and in 
1773 the people did a deed whicli incensed the king and 
ministry more than any of their former doings." 

Grandfather here described the affair, wdiich is known 
by the name of the Boston Tea Party. The Americans, 
for some time past, had left off importing tea, on account 
of the oppressive tax. The East India Company, in 
London, had a large stock of tea on hand, which they 
liad expected to sell to the Americans, but could find no 
market for it. But, after a while, the government per- 
suaded this company of merchants to send the tea to 
America. 

" How odd it is," observed Clara, ".that the liberties 
of America should have had an v thing to do with a cup 
of tea ! " 

Grandfather smiled, and proceeded with his narrative. 
"When the people of Boston heard that several cargoes of 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 181 

tea were coming across the Atlantic, tliey lielcl a great 
many meetings at Faneuil Hall, in the Old South Church, 
and under Liberty Tree. In the midst of their debates, 
three ships arrived in the harbor with the tea on board. 
The people spent more than a fortnight in consulting what 
should be done. At last, on the 16th of December, 1773, 
they demanded of Governor Hutchinson that he should 
immediately send the ships back to England. 

The governor replied that the ships must not leave 
the harbor until the custom-house duties upon the tea 
should be paid. Now, the payment of these duties was 
the very thing against which the people had set their 
faces ; because it was a tax unjustly imposed upon Amer- 
ica by the English government. Therefore, in the dusk 
of the evening, as soon as Governor Hutchinson's reply 
was received, an immense crowd hastened to Griffin's 
Wharf, where the tea-ships lay. The place is now called 
Liverpool Wharf. 

"When the crowd reached the wharf," said Grand- 
father, " they saw that a set of wild-looking figures were 
already on board of the ships. You would have imagined 
that the Indian warriors of old times had come back 
again ; for they wore the Indian dress, and had their 
faces covered with red and black paint, like the Indians 
when they go to war. These grim figures hoisted the 
tea-chests on the decks of the vessels, broke them open, 
and threw all the contents into the harbor." 

" Grandfather," said little Alice, " I suppose Indians 
don't love tea ; else they would never waste it so." 

" They were not real Indians, my child," answered 
Grandfather. "They were white men in disguise; be- 
cause a heavy punishment would have been inflicted on 
them if the king's officers had found who they were. 
But it was never known. From that day to this, though 



182 GllAXDFATHER'S CHAIH. 

the matter has been talked of by all the vorld, nobody 
can tell the names of those Indian figures. Some people 
say that there were very famous men among them, who 
afterwards became governors and generals. Whether 
this be true, I cannot tell." 

When tidings of this bold deed were -carried to Eng- 
land, King George was greatly enraged. Parliament im- 
mediately passed an act, by which all vessels were forbid- 
den to take in or discharge their cargoes at the port of 
Boston. In this way they expected to ruin all the mer- 
chants, and starve the poor people, l)y depriving them of 
employment. At the same time another act was passed, 
taking away many rights and privileges which had been 
granted in the charter of Massachusetts. 

Governor Hutchinson, soon afterward, was summoned 
to England, in order that he might give his advice about 
the management of American atFairs. General Gage, an 
officer of the old French war, and since commander-in- 
chief of the British forces in America, was appointed 
governor in his stead. One of his first acts was to 
make Salem, instead of Boston, the metropolis of Mas- 
sachusetts, by summoning the General Court to meet 
there. 

According to Grandfather's description, this was the 
most gloomy time that Massachusetts had ever seen. 
The people groaned nnder as heavy a tyranny as in the 
days of Sir Edmund Andros. Boston looked as if it 
were afflicted with some dreadful pestilence, — so sad 
were the inhabitants, and so desolate the streets. There 
was no cheerful hum of business. The merchants shut up 
their warehouses, and the laboring men stood idle about 
the wharves. But all America felt interested in the good 
town of Boston ; and contributions were raised, in many 
places, for the relief of the poor inhabitants. 



GRANDPATIIEH'S CHAIE. 183 

''Our dear old chair I " exclaimed Clara. "How dis- 
mal it must have been now ! " 

" O," replied Grandfather, " a pray throng of officers 
had now come back to the British Coffee House; so that 
the old chair had no lack of mirthful company. Soon 
after General Gage became governor a great many troops 
had arrived, and were encamped upon the Common. 
Boston was now a garrisoned and fortified town ; for the 
general had built a battery across the Neck, on the road 
to lloxbury, and placed guards for its defence. Every- 
thing looked as if a civil war were close at hand." 

" Did the people make ready to fight ? " asked Char- 
ley. 

" A Continental Congress assembled at Philadelphia," 
said Grandfather, " and proposed such measures as they 
thought most conducive to the public good. A Provin- 
cial Congress was likewise chosen in Massachusetts. 
They exhorted the people to arm and discipline them- 
selves. A great number of minute-men were enrolled. 
The Americans called them minute-men, because they 
engaged to be ready to fight at a minute's warning. The 
English officers laughed, and said that the name Avas a 
very proper one, because the minute-men would run away 
the minute they saw the enemy. Whether they would 
fight or run was soon to be proved." 

Grandfather told the children that the first open resist- 
ance offered to the British troops, in the province of 
Massachusetts, "was at Salem. Colonel Timothy Picker- 
ing, with thirty or forty militia-men, prevented the Eng- 
lish colonel, Leslie, with four times as many regular 
soldiers, from taking possession of some military stores. 
No blood was shed on this occasion ; but soon after- 
ward it began to flow. 

General Gage sent eight hundred soldiers to Concord, 



184 GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 

about eigliteen miles from Boston, to destroy some ani- 
munition and provisions wliicli tlie colonists had collected 
tliere. Tliey set out on their march in Ihe evening of 
the 18th of April, 1775. The next morning, the general 
sent Lord Percy with nine liuudred men to strengtlien 
the troops that had gone before. All that day the inliab- 
itants of Boston heard various rumors. Some said that 
the British were making great slaughter among our coun- 
trymen. Others affirmed that every man had turned out 
with his musket, and that not a single soldier would ever 
get back to Boston. 

"It was after sunset," continued Grandfather, "when 
the troops, who had marched forth so proudly, were seen 
entering Charlestown. They were covered with dust, 
and so hot and weary that their tongues hung out of their 
mouths. Many of them were faint with wounds. They 
liad not all returned. Nearly three hundred were strown, 
dead or dying, along the road from Concord. The yeo- 
manry had risen upon the invaders and driven them back." 

" Was this the battle of Lexington ? " asked Charley. 

"Yes," replied Grandfather; "it was so called, be- 
cause the British, without provocation, had fired upon 
a party of minute-men, near Lexington meeting-house, 
and killed eight of them. That fatal volley, which was 
fired by order of Major Pitcairn, began the war of the 
Kevolution." 

About this time, if Grandfather had been correctly in- 
formed, our chair disappeared from the British Coffee 
Hfmse. The manner of its departure cannot be satisfac- 
torily ascertained. Perhaps the keeper of the Coifee 
House turned it out of doors on account of its old-fash- 
ioned aspect. Perhaps he sold it as a curiosity. Per- 
haps it was taken, without leave, by some person who 
regarded it as public property because it had once figured 



GRANDFATHEE'S CHAIR. 185 

under Liberty Tree. Or perhaps the old cliair, being of 
a peaceable disposition, had made use of its four oaken 
legs and run away from the seat of war. 

" It would have made a terrible clattering over the 
pavement," said Charley, laughing. 

" Meanwhile," continued Grandfather, " during the 
mysterious non-appearance of our chair, an army of 
twenty thousand men had started up and come to the 
siege of Boston. General Gage and his troops were 
cooped up within the narrow precincts of the peninsula. 
On tlie 17th of June, 1775, the famous battle of Bunker 
Hill was fought. Here General Warren fell. The Brit- 
ish got the victory, indeed, but with the loss of more 
than a thousand officers and men." 

"O Grandfather," cried Charley, "you must tell us 
about that famous battle." 

"No, Charley," said Grandfather, "I am not like 
other historians. Battles shall not hold a prominent 
place in the history of our quiet and comfortable old 
chair. But to-morrow evening, Laurence, Clara, and 
yourself, and dear little Alice too, shall visit the Diorama 
of Bunker Hill. There you shall see the whole business, 
the burning of Charlestown and all, with your own eyes, 
and hear the cannon and musketry with your own ears." 



J^- 



CHAPTEE YIII 




HE next evening but one, when the children had 
given Grandfather a full account of the Diorama 
of Bunker Hill, they entreated him not to keep 
them any longer in suspense about the fate of his chair. 
The reader will recollect that, at the last accounts, it had 
trotted away upon its poor old legs nobody knew whith- 
er. But, before gratifying their curiosity. Grandfather 
found it necessary to say something about public events. 

The Continental Congress, which was assembled at 
Philadelphia, was composed of delegates from all the 
colonies. They had now appointed George Washington, 
of Virginia, to be commander-in-chief of all the American 
armies. He was, at that time, a member of Congress ; 
but immediately left Philadelphia, and began his journey 
to Massachusetts. On the 3d of July, 1775, he arrived 
at Cambridge, and took command of the troops which 
were besieghig General Gage. 

"0 Grandfather," exclaimed Laurence, "it makes my 
heart throb to think what is coming now. We are to 
see General Washington himself." 

The children crowded around Grandfather and looked 
earnestly into his face. Even little Alice opened her 
sweet blue eyes, with her lips apart, and almost held her 
breath to listen ; so instinctive is the reverence of child- 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 187 

hood for tlie fatlier of his country. Grandfather paused 
a moment ; for he felt as if it miglit be irreverent to in- 
troduce the hallowed shade of Washington into a history 
where an ancient elbow-chair occupied the most promi- 
nent place. However, he determined to proceed with his 
narrative, and speak of the hero when it Avas needful, but 
with an unambitious simplicity. 

So Grandfather told his auditors, that, on General 
Washington's arrival at Cambridge, his first care was to 
reconnoitre the British troops with his spyglass, and to 
examine the condition of his own army. He found that 
the American troops amounted to about fourteen thou- 
sand men. They were extended all round the peninsula 
of Boston, a space of twelve miles, from the high grounds 
of Roxbury on the right to Mystic River on the left. 
Some were livhig in tents of sail-cloth, some in shanties 
rudely constructed of boards, some in huts of stone or 
turf with curious windows and doors of basket-work. 

In order to be near the centre and oversee the whole 
of this wide-stretched army, the comtnander-in-chief made 
his headquarters at Cambridge, about half a mile from 
the colleges. A mansion-house, Avhich perhaps had been 
the country seat of some tory gentleman, was provided 
for his residence. 

" When General Washington first entered this man- 
sion," said Grandfather, " he was ushered np the staircase 
and shown into a handsome apartment. He sat down in 
a large chair, which was the most conspicuous object in 
the room. The noble figure of Washington would have 
done honor to a throne. As he sat there, with his hand 
resting on the hilt of his sheathed sword, which was placed 
between his knees, his whole aspect well befitted the 
chosen man on whom his country leaned for the defence 
of her dearest rights. America seemed safe under his 



188 GUANDFATHEU'S CHAIR. 

protection. His face was grander than any scnlptor had 
ever wrought in marble ; none coukl behold him without 
awe and reverence. Never before had the lion's head at 
the summit of the chair looked down upon such a face 
and form as Washington's." 

"Why, Grandfather ! " cried Clara, clasping her hands 
in amazement, " was it really so ? Did General Wash- 
iugton sit in our great chair ?" 

" I knew how it would be," said Laurence ; " I fore- 
saw it the moment Grandfather began to speak." 

Grandfather smiled. Eut, turning from the personal 
and domestic life of the illustrious leader, he spoke of the 
methods which Washington adopted to win back the 
metropolis of New England from the British. 

The army, when he took command of it, was without 
any discipline or order. The privates considered them- 
selves as good as their officers ; and seldom thought it 
necessary to obey their commands, unless they under- 
stood the why and wherefore. Moreover, they were en- 
listed for so short a period, that, as soon as they began 
to be respectable soldiers, it was time to discharge them. 
Then came new recruits, who had to be taught their duty 
before they could be of any service. Such was the army 
with which Washington had to contend against more 
than twenty veteran British regiments. 

Some of the men had no muskets, and almost all were 
without bayonets. Heavy cannon, for battering the 
British fortifications, were much wanted. There was but 
a small quantity of powder and ball, few tools to build 
intrenchments with, and a great deficiency of provisions 
and clothes for the soldiers. Yet, in spite of these per- 
plexing difficulties, the eyes of the whole people were 
fixed on General Washington, expecting him to under- 
take some great enterprise against the hostile army. 



GUANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 189 

The first thing that lie found necessary was, to bring 
his own men into better order and discipline. It is won- 
derful how soon he transformed this rough mob of coun- 
try people into the semblance of a regular army. One 
of Washington's most invaluable characteristics was, the 
faculty of bringing order out of confusion. All business 
with which he had any concern seemed to regulate itself 
as if by magic. The influence of his mind was like hght 
gleaming through an unshaped world. It was this fac- 
ulty, more than any other, that made him so fit to ride 
"upon tiie storm of the Revolution when everything was 
unfixed and drifting about in a troubled sea. 

"Washington had not been long at the head of the 
army," proceeded Grandfather, " before his soldiers 
thought as highly of him as if he had led them to a hun- 
dred victories. They knew that he was the very man 
whom the country needed, and the only one who could 
bring them safely through the great contest against the 
might of England. They put entire confidence in his 
courage, wisdom, and integrity." 

" And were they not eager to follow him against the 
British ? " asked Charley. 

"Doubtless they would have gone whithersoever his 
sword pointed the way," answered Grandfather ; " and 
Washington was anxious to make a decisive assault u])Ou 
the enemy. But as the enterprise was very hazardous, 
he called a council of all the generals in the army. Ac- 
cordingly they came from their diff'erent posts, and were 
ushered into the reception-room. The commander-in- 
chief arose from our great chair to greet them." 

" What were their names ? " asked Charley. 

" There was General Artemus Ward," replied Grand- 
father, "a lawyer by profession. He had commanded 
the troops before Washington's arrival. -Another was 



190 GllANDrATHEn'S CHAIR. 

General Cliarles Lee, wlio had been a colonel in the Eng- 
lish army, and was thought to ])Ossess ^ast military sci- 
ence. He came to the council, followed by two or three 
dogs which were always at his heels. There Avas General 
Putnam, too, who was known all over New England by 
the name of Old Put." 

" Was it he who killed the wolf ? " inquired Char- 
ley. 

"The same," said Grandfather; "and he had done 
good service in the old Erench war. His occupation 
was that of a farmer ; but he left his plough in the fur- 
row at the neW'S of Lexington battle. Then there Avas 
General Gates, who afterward gained great renown at 
Siratoga, and lost it again at Camden. General Greene, 
of Rhode Island, was likewise at the council. Washing- 
ton soon discovered him to be one of the best officers in 
the army." 

When the generals were all assembled, Washington con- 
sulted them about a plan for storming the English batter- 
ies. But it was their unanimous opinion that so perilous 
an enterprise ought not to be attempted. The army, 
therefore, continued to besiege Boston, preventing the 
enemy from obtaining supplies of provisions, but without 
taking any innnediate measures to get possession of the 
town. In this manner the summer, autumn, and winter 
passed away. 

" Many a night, doubtless," said Grandfather, " after 
Washington had been all day on horseback, galloping 
from one post of the army to another, he used to sit in 
our great chair, rapt in earnest thought. Had you seen 
him, you might have supposed that his whole mind was 
fixed on the blue china tiles which adorned the old-fash- 
ioned fireplace. But, in reality, he was meditating how 
to capture the British army, or drive it out of Boston. 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 191 

Once, whsii there was a hard frost, he formed a scheme 
to cross the Charles River on tlie ice. But the other 
generals could not be persuaded that there was any pros- 
pect of success." 

" What were the British doing all this time ? " in- 
quired Charley. 

" They lay idle in the town," replied Grandfather. 
" General Gage had been recalled to England, and was 
succeeded by Sir William Howe. The British army and 
the inhabitants of Boston were now in great distress. 
Being shut up in the town so long, they had consumed 
almost all their provisions and burned up all their fuel. 
The soldiers tore down the Old North Church, and used 
its rotten boards and timbers for firewood. To heighten 
their distress, tiie small-pox broke out. They probably 
lost far more men by cold, hunger, and sickness than had 
been slain at Lexington and Bunker Hill." 

" What a dismal time for the poor women and chil- 
dren ! " exclaimed Clara. 

"At length," continued Grandfather, "in March, 
1776, General Washington, who had now a good supply 
of powder, began a terrible cannonade and bombardment 
from Dorchester Heights. One of the cannon-balls whicli 
he fired into the town struck the tower of the Brattle 
Street Church, where it may still be seen. Sir William 
Howe made preparations to cross over in boats and drive 
the Americans from their batteries, but was prevented l)y 
a violent gale and storm. General Washington next 
erected a battery on Nook's Hill, so near the enemy that 
it was impossible for them to remain in Boston any 
longer." 

" Hurrah ! Hurrah ! " cried Charley, clapping his 
hands triumphantly. " I wish I had been there to see 
how sheepish the Englishmen looked." 



192 



GRANDFATHER S CHAIR. 



And as Grandfather tliouglit that Boston had never 
witnessed a more interesting period than this, when tlie 
royal power was in its death agony, he determined to 
take a peep into the town and imagine the feeUngs of 
those who were quitting it forever. 




jB^^H^ 


M 


i 


i 


% 


s 


i 



I 



CHAPTER IX. 




LAS for the poor tories ! " said Grandfather. 
" Until the very last morning after Washing- 
ton's troops had shown themselves on Nook's 
Hill, these unfortunate persons could not believe that the 
audacious rebels, as they called the Americans, would 
ever prevail against King George's army. But wheu 
they saw the British soldiers preparing to embark on. 
board of tiie ships of war, then tliey knew that they had 
lost their country. Could the patriots have known how 
bitter were their regrets, they would liave forgiven them 
all their evil deeds, and sent a blessing after them as 
they sailed away from their native shore." 

In order to make the children sensible of the pitiable 
condition of these men, Grandfather singled out Peter 
Oliver, chief justice of Massachusetts under the crown, 
and imagined him walking through the streets of Boston 
on the morning before he left it forever. 

This effort of Grandfather's fancy may be called 

THE TORY'S FAREWELL. 

Old Chief Justice Oliver threw on his red cloak, and 
placed his three-cornered hat on the top of his white 
wig. In this garb he intended to go forth and take a 

9 M 



194 

partlni^ look at objects that had been familiar to him 
from his \outh. According-ly, he began his Avalk in the 
north part of the town, and soon came to Faneuil Hall. 
This edifice, the cradle of liberty, had been used by the 
British officers as a playhouse. 

" Would that I could see its walls crumble to dust ! " 
thought the chief justice ; and, in tlie bitterness of his 
heart, he shook liis fist at the famous hall. " There 
began the mischief \viiich now threatens to rend asunder 
the British empire. Tiie seditious harangues of dema- 
gogues in Faneuil Hall have made rebels of a loyal 
people and deprived me of my country." 

He then passed through a narrow avenue and found 
l»imself in King Street, almost on the very spot wliich, 
six years before, had been reddened by the blood of the 
Boston massacre. The chief justice stepj)ed cautiously, 
and shuddered, as if he were afraid that, even now, the 
gore of his slaughtered countrymen might stain his 
feet. 

Before him rose the Town House, on the front of 
which were still displayed the royal arms. "Within that 
edifice he had dispensed justice to the people in the 
days when his name was never mentioned without honor. 
There, too, was the balcony whence the trumpet had 
been sounded and tlie proclamation read to an assem- 
bled multitude, whenever a new king of England as- 
cended the throne. 

"I remember — I remember," said Chief Justice 
Oliver to himself, " when his present most sacred Maj- 
esty was proclaimed. Then how tlie people shouted ! 
Each man would have poured out his life-blood to keep 
a hair of King George's head from iiarm. But now 
there is scarcely a tcmgue in all New England that docs 
not imprecate curses on his name. It is ruin and dis- 



GRANDFATHEH'S CHAIR. 195 

grace to love liim. Can it be possible that a few fleeting 
years have wrouglit such a cliange ? " 

It did uot occur to the chief justice that nothing but 
the most grievous tyranny could so soon have changed 
the people's liearts. Hurrying from the spot, he entered 
Coruhill, as tlie lower part of Washington Street was 
then called. Opposite to the Town House was the 
waste foundation of the Old North Church. The sacri- 
legious hands of the British soldiers had torn it down, 
and kindled their barrack fires witii the fragments. 

Farther on he passed beneath the tower of the Old 
South. The threshold of this sacred edifice was worn 
by the iron tramp of horses' feet ; for the interior had 
been used as a riding-school and rendezvous for a regi- 
ment of dragoons. As the chief justice lingered an 
instant at the door a trumpet sounded within, and the 
regiment came clattering forth and galloped down the 
street. They were proceeding to the place of embar- 
kation. 

"Let them go ! " thought the chief justice, with some- 
what of an old Puritan feeling in his breast. " No good 
can come of men who desecrate the house of God." 

He went on a few steps farther, and paused before the 
Province House. No range of brick stores had then 
sprung up to hide the mansion of the royal governors 
from public view. It had a spacious court-yard, bor- 
dered with trees, and enclosed M-itli a wrought-iron fence. 
On the cupola that surmounted the edifice was the gilded 
figure of an Indian chief, ready to let fly an arrow from 
his bow. Over tlie wide front door was a balcony, in 
which the chief justice had often stood when the gov- 
ernor and high officers of the province showed themselves 
to the people. 

While Chief Justice OKver gazed sadly at the Prov- 



196 GRANDFATHER'S CIIATR. 

ince House, before wliicli a sentinel was pacing, Hie 
double leaves of the door were thrown open, and Sir 
"William Howe made his appearance. Behind him came 
a throng of officers, whose steel scabbards clattered 
against the stones as they hastened down the court-yard. 
Sir William Howe was a dark-complexioned man, stern 
and haughty in his deportment. He stepped as proudly 
in that hour of defeat, as if he were going to receive the 
submission of the rebel general. 

The chief justice bowed and accosted him. 

" This is a grievous hour for both of us. Sir William," 
said he. 

" Forward ! gentlemen," said Sir William Howe to 
the officers who attended him ; " we have no time to 
hear lamentations now." 

And, coldly bowing, he departed. Thus the chief 
justice had a foretaste of the mortifications which the 
exiled New-Englanders afterwards suffered from the 
haughty Britons. They were despised even by that 
country w^hich they had served more faithfully than their 
own. 

A still heavier trial awaited Chief Justice Oliver, as 
he passed ouAvard from the Province House. He was 
recognized by the people in the street. They had long 
known him as the descendant of an ancient and honora- 
ble family. They had seen him sitting in his scarlet 
robes upon the judgment-seat. All his life long, either 
for the sake of his ancestors or on account of his own 
dignified station and unspotted character, he had been 
held in high respect. The old gentry of the province 
were looked upoii almost as noblemen while Massachu- 
setts was under royal government. 

But now all hereditary reverence for birth and rank 
was gone. The inhabitants shouted in derision when 



GRANDFATHErv'S CHAIR. 197 

tliey saw the venerable form of the old chief justice. 
They laid the wrongs of the country and their own suf- 
ferings during the siege — their hunger, cold, and sicl<- 
ness — partly to his charge and to that of his brother 
Andrew and his kinsman Hutchinson. It was by their 
advice that the king had acted in all the colonial troubles. 
But the day of recompense was come. 

" See the old tory ! " cried the people, with bitter 
laughter. " He is taking his last look at us. Let him 
show his white wig among us an hour hence, and we'll 
give him a coat of tar and feathers !" 

The chief justice, however, knew that he need fear no 
violence so long as the British troops were in possession 
of tlie town. But, alas ! it was a bitter thought that he 
should leave no loving memory behind him. His fore- 
fathers, long after their spirits left tlie earth, had been 
honored in the affectionate remembrance of the people. 
But he, who would henceforth be dead to his native 
land, would have no e[)itaph save scornful and vindictive 
words. The old man wept. 

"They curse me, they invoke all kinds of evil on my 
head ! " thought he, in the midst of his tears. " But, if 
they could read my heart, they would know that I love 
New England well. Heaven bless her, and bring her 
again under the rule of our grasious king I A blessing, 
too, on these poor, misguided people ! " 

The chief justice flung out his hands with a gesture, as 
if he were bestowing a parting benediction on his coun- 
trymen. He had now reached the southern portion of 
the town, and was far within the range of cannon-shot 
from the American batteries. Close beside him was the 
broad stump of a tree, which appeared to have been re- 
cently cut down. Being weary and heavy at heart, he 
was about to sit down upon the stump. 



198 . GRAXDFATHER'S CHAIR. 

Suddenly it flashed upon his recollection that this was 
the stump of Liberty Tree ! The British soldiers had 
cut it down, vainl}^ boasting that they could as easily 
overthrow the liberties of America. Under its shadowy 
branches, ten years before, the brother of Chief Justice 
Oliver had been compelled to acknowledge the suprem- 
acy of the people by taking the oath which they pre- 
scribed. This tree was connected with all the events 
that had severed America from England. 

"Accursed tree!" cried the chief justice, gnashing his 
teeth ; for anger overcame his sorrow. " Would that 
thou hadst been left standing till Hancock, Adams, and 
every other traitor were hanged upon thy branches! 
Tnen fitly mightest thou have been hewn down and cast 
uito the flames." 

He turned back, hurried to Long Wharf Avithout look- 
ing behind him, embarked with the British troops for 
Halifax, and never saw his country more. Throughout 
the remainder of his days Chief Justice Oliver was agi- 
tated with those same conflicting emotions that had tor- 
tured him while taking his farewell walk through the 
streets of Boston. Deep love and fierce resentment 
burned in one flame within his breast. Anathemas strug- 
gled with benedictions. He felt as if one breath of his 
native air would renew his life, yet would have died rather 
than breathe the same air with rebels. And such likewise 
were the feelings of the other exiles, a thousand in num- 
ber, who departed with the British army. Were they 
not the most unfortunate of men? 

"The misfortunes of those exiled tories," observed 
Laurence, " must have made them think of the poor ex- 
iles of Acadia." 

"They had a sad time of it, I suppose," said Charby. 



GHANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 199 

" But I choose to rejoice with the patriots, rather tliaii 
be sorrowful with the tories. Grandfather, what did Gen- 
eral Washington do now ? " 

"As the rear of the British army embarked from the 
wharf," replied Grandfather, " General Washington's 
troops marched over the Neck, through the fortification 
gates, and entered Boston in triumph. And now, for 
the first time since the Pilgrims landed, Massachusetts 
was free from the dominion of England. May she never 
again be subjected to foreign rule, — never again feel the 
rod of oppression ! " 

" Dear Grandtather," asked little Alice, " did General 
Washington bring our chair back to Boston?" 

" I know not how long the chair remained at Cam- 
bridge," said Grandfather. " Had it stayed there till this 
time, it could not have found a better or more appropri- 
ate shelter. The mansion which General Washington 
occupied is still standing, and his apartments have since 
been tenanted by several eminent men. Governor Ever- 
ett, while a professor in the University, resided there. 
So at an after period did Mr. Sparks, whose invaluable 
labors have connected his name with the immortality of 
Washington. And at this very time a venerable friend 
and contemporary of your Grandfather, after long pilgrini- 
ages beyond the sea, has set up his staff of rest at Wash- 
ington's headquarters." 

" You mean Professor Longfellow, Grandfather," said 
Laurence. " 0, how I should love to see the author of 
those beautiful Voices o? the Night ! " 

" We will visit him next summer," answered Grand- 
father, " and take Clara and little Alice with us, — and 
Charley, too, if he will be quiet." 



CHAPTEE X 





i 



HEN Grandfather resumed Lis narrative the 
next evening, he told the children that he had 
some difficulty in tracing the movements of the 
chair duriug a sliort period after General Washington's 
dej3arture from Cambridge. 

Within a few months, however, it made ils appearance 
at a shop in Boston, before the door of which was seen 
a striped pole. In the interior was displayed a stuffed 
alligator, a rattlesnake's skin, a bundle of Indian arrows, 
an old-fashioned matchlock gun, a walkiug-stick of Gov- 
ernor Winthrop's, a wig of old Cotton Mather's, and a 
colored [)rint of the Boston nuissacre. In short, it was 
a barber's-shop, kept by a Mr. Pierce, w-ho prided himself 
on having shaved General Washington, Old Put, and 
many other famous ])ersons. 

"This was not a very dignified situation for our ven- 
erable chair," continued Grandfather; "but, you know, 
there is no better ])lace for news than a barber's-shop. 
All the events of the Revolutionary War were heard of 
there sooner than anywhere else. People used to sit in 
the chair, reading the newspaper or talking, and waiting 
to be shaved, wliile Mr. Pierce, with his scissors and 
razor, was at work upon the heads or chins of his other 
customers." 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 201 

" I am sorry tlie cliair could not betake itself to some 
more suitable place oi" refuge," said Laurence. " It was 
old now, and must have longed for quiet. Besides, after 
it had held Washington in its arms, it ought not to have 
l)een compelled to receive all the world. It should have 
been put into the pulpit of the Old South Church, or 
some other consecrated place." 

" Perhaps so," answered Grandfather. " But the chair, 
in the course of its varied existence, had grown so accus- 
tomed to general intercourse with society, that I doubt 
whether it would have contented itself in the pulpit of 
the Old South. There it would have stood solitary, or 
with no livelier companion than the silent organ, in the 
opposite gallery, six days out of seven. I incliue to 
think that it had seldom been situated more to its mind 
than on the sanded floor of the snug little barber's-shop." 

Then Grandfather amused his children and himself 
with fancying all the ditferent sorts of people who had 
occupied our chair while they awaited the leisure of the 
barber. 

There was the old clergyman, such as Dr. Chauncey, 
wearing a white wig, which the barber took from his 
h3ad and placed upon a wig-block. Half an hour, per- 
haps, was spent in combing and powdering this reverend 
appendage to a clerical skull. There, too, were officers 
of the continental army, who required their hair to be 
pomatumed and plastered, so as to give them a bold and 
martial aspect. There, once in a while, was seen the 
thin, care-w^orn, melancholy visage of an old tory, wdtli a 
wig that, in times long past, had perhaps figured at a 
Province House ball. And there, not unfrequently, sat 
the rough captain of a privateer, just returned from a 
successful cruise, in which he had captured half a dozen 
richly laden vessels belonging to King George's subjects, 
9* 



202 GEAXDFATHER'S CHAIE. 

And sometimes a rosy little school-boy climbed into our 
chair, and sat staring, with wide-open eyes, at the alli- 
gator, the rattlesnake, and the other curiosiiies of the bar- 
bjr's-shop. His mother had sent him, with sixpence in 
liis hand, to get his glossy curls cropped off. The inci- 
dents of the Revolution ])lentifully supplied the barber's 
customers with topics of conversation. They talked sor- 
rowfully of the death of General Montgomery and the 
failure of our troops to take Quebec ; for the Kew-Eiig- 
landers were now as anxious to get Canada from the 
English as they had formerly been to conquer it from 
the French. 

" But very soon," said Grandfather, " came news from 
Philadelphia, the most important that America had ever 
heard of. On the 4th of July, 1776, Congress had 
signed the Declaration of Independence, The thirteen 
colonies were now free and independent States. Dark as 
our prospects were, the inhabitants welcomed these glo- 
rious tidings, and resolved to perish rather than again 
bear the yoke of England." 

" And 1 would perish, too ! " cried Charley. 

" It was a great day, — a glorious deed ! " said Laurence, 
coloring high with enthusiasm. "And, Grandfather, I 
love to think that the sages in Congress showed them- 
selves as bold and true as the soldiers in the field ; for it 
must have required more courage to sign the Declaration 
of Independence than to fight the enemy in battle." 

Grandfather acquiesced in Laurence's view of the mat- 
ter. He then touched briefly and hastily upon the prom- 
inent events of the Revolution. The thunder-storm of 
war had now rolled southward, and did not again burst 
upon Massachusetts, where its first fury had been felt. 
Rut she contributed her full share to the success of the 
contest. Wherever a battle was fouglit, — whether at 



GKANDrATHER'S CHAIR. 203 

Long Island, White Plains, Trenton, Princeton, Brandy- 
wine, or Germantown, — some of lier brave sons were 
fonnd slain upon the field. 

In October, 1777, General Burgoyne surrendered his 
army, at Saratoga, to the American general, Gates. The 
captured troops were sent to Massachusetts. Not long 
afterwards Dr. Franklin and other American commis- 
sioners made a treaty at Paris, by wliicli France bound 
herself to assist our countrymen. The gallant Lulayette 
was already fighting for our freedom by the side of Wash- 
ington. In 1778 a French fleet, commanded by Count 
d'Estaing, spent a considerable time in Boston Harbor. 
It marks the vicissitudes of human aftairs, that the 
French, our ancient enemies, should come hither as 
comrades and brethren, and that kindred England should 
be our foe. 

" While the war was raging in the Middle and South- 
ern States," proceeded Grandfather, " Massachusetts had 
leisure to settle a new constitution of government instead 
of the royal charter. This was done in 1780. In the 
same jear John Hancock, who had been president of Con- 
gress, was chosen governor of the State. He was the first 
whom the people had elected since the days of old Simon 
Bradstreet." 

" But, Grandf\ither, who had been governor since the 
British were driven away ? " inquired Laurence. " Gen- 
eral Gage and Sir William Howe were the last whom 
you have told us of." 

" There had been no governor for the last four years," 
replied Grandfather. " Massachusetts had been ruled by 
the Legislature, to whom the people paid obedience of 
their own accord. It is one of the most remarkable cir- 
cumstances in our history, that, when the charter gov- 
ernment was overthrown by the war, no anarchy nor the 



204 GRAXDFATIIEE,'S CHAIR. 

slightest confusion ensued. Tiiis was a groat honor to 
the people. But now Hancock was proclaimed governor 
bj sound of trumpet; and there was again a settled gov- 
ernment." 

Grandfather again adverted to the progress of the war. 
In 1781 General Greene drove the British from the 
Southern States. In October of the same year General 
Washington compelled Lord Cornwallis to surrender his 
army, at Yorktown, in Virginia. This was the last great 
event of the Bevolutionary contest. King George and* 
his ministers perceived that all the might of England 
could not compel America to renew her allegiance to the 
crown. After a great deal of discussion, a treaty of 
peace was signed in September, 1783. 

"Now, at last," said Grandfather, "after weary years 
of war, the regiments of Massachusetts returned m peace 
to their families. Now the stately and dignified leaders, 
such as General Lincoln and General Knox, with their 
powdered hair and their nniforms of blue and buff, were 
seen moving about the streets." 

" And little boys ran after them, I suppose," remarked 
Charley ; " and tiie grown people bowed respectfully." 

" They deserved respect; for they were good men as 
well as brave," answered Grandfather. "Now, too, the 
inferior officers and privates came home to seek some 
])eaceful occupation. Their friends remembered them as 
slender and smooth-cheeked young men ; but they re- 
turned with the erect and rigid mien of disciplined sol- 
diers. Som.e hobbled on crutches and wooden legs; 
others had received wonnds, which were still rankling in 
their breasts. Many, alas ! had fallen in battle, and per- 
haps were left unburied on the bloody field." 

"The country must have been sick of war," observed 
Laurence. 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 205 



One would have Ihouglit so," said Graiidfatlie 



" Yet only tAvo or three years elapsed before the folly of. 
some misguided men caused another mustering of sol- 
diers. Tills affair was called Shays's war, because a 
Captain Shays was the chief leader of the insurgents." 

" O Grandfather, don't let there be another war ! " 
cried little Alice, piteously. 

Grandfather comforted his dear little girl by assuring 
her that there was no great mischief done. Shays's war 
happoned in the latter part of 1786 and the beginning of 
th'3 following year. Its principal cause was the badness 
of times. The State of Massachusetts, in its public ca- 
pacity, was very much in debt. So likewise were many 
of the people. An insurrection took place, the object of 
which seems to have been, to interrupt the course of law 
and get rid of debts and taxes. 

James Bowdoin, a good and able man, was now gov- 
ernor of Massachusetts. He sent General Lincoln, at 
the head of four thousand men, to put down the insurrec- 
tion. This general, who had fought through several hard 
campaigns in the Revolution, managed matters like an 
old soldier, and totally defeated the rebels at the expense 
of very little blood. 

" There is but one more public event to be recorded in 
the history of our chair," proceeded Grandfather. " In 
the year 1794 Samuel Adams was elected governor of 
Massachusetts. I have told you what a distinguished 
patriot he was, and liow much he resendDled the stern old 
Puritans. Could the ancient freemen of Massachusetts 
who lived in the days of the first charter have arisen 
from their graves, they would probably have voted for 
Samuel Adams to be governor." 

" Well, Grandfather, I hope he sat in our chair," said 
Clara. 



20G GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 

" He did," replied Grandfather. " He had long been 
ill the liabit of visiting the barber's sho]), where our ven- 
erable chair, philosophically forgetful of its former digni- 
ties, had now spent nearly eighteen not uncomfortable 
years. Such a remarkable piece of furniture, so evidently 
a relic of long-departed times, could not escape the no- 
tice of Samuel Adams. He made minute researches into 
its history, and ascertained what a succession of excellent 
and famous people had occupied it." 

" How did he find it out ? " asked Charley ; " for I 
suppose the chair could not tell its own history." 

" There used to be a vast collection of ancient letters 
and other documents in the tower of the Old South 
Church," answered Grandfather. " Perhaps the history 
of our chair was contained among these. At all events, 
Samuel Adams appears to have been well acquainted with 
it. When he became governor, he felt that he could 
have no more honorable seat than that which had been 
the ancient chair of state. He therefore purchased it for 
a trifle, ai;d filled it worthily for three years as governor 
of Massachusetts." 

" And what next ? " asked Charley. 

" That is all," said Grandfather, heaving a sigh ; for 
he could not help being a little sad at the thought that 
his stories must close here. " Samuel Adams died in 
1803, at the age of above threescore and ten. He was 
a great patriot, but a poor man. At his death he left 
scarcely property enough to pay the expenses of his 
funeral. This precious chair, among his other effects, 
W'as sold at auction; and your Grandfather, who was 
then in the strength of his years, became the pur- 
chaser." 

Laurence, wilh a mind full of thoughts that struggled 
for expression but could find none, looked steadfastly at 
the chair. 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 207 

He had now learned all its liistory, yet was not sat- 
isfied. 

" O, liow I wisli that the chair could speak ! " cried 
he. "After its long intercourse with mankind, — after 
looking upon the world for ages, — what lessons of 
golden wisdom it might utter ! It might teach a private 
person how to lead a good and happy life, or a statesman 
how to make his country prosperous." 




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CHAPTEE XI, 




RANDFATHER was struck hy Laurence's idea 
that the historic cliair should utter a voice, and 
thus pour forth the collected wisdom of two 
centuries. The old gentleman bad once possessed no 
inconsiderable share of fancy ; and even now its fading 
sunshine occasionally glimmered among his more sombre 
reflections. 

As the history of his chair had exhausted all his facts, 
Grandfather determined to have recourse to fable. So, 
after warning the children tliat they must not mistake 
this story for a true one, he related what we shall call 



GFANDFATHERS DREAM. 



Laurence and Clara, where were you last night ? 
Where were you, Charley, and dear little Alice? You 
liad all gone to rest, and left old Grandfather to meditate 
alone in his great chair. The lamp had grown so dim 
that its light hardly illuminated IJie alabasler shade. 
The wood-fire had crumbled into heavy embers, among 
which the little flames danced, and quivered, and sported 
about like fairies. 

And here sat Grandfather all by himself. He knew 
that it was bedtime ; yet he could not help longing to 



f 



GRx\NDFATHER'S CHAIR, 209 

hear your meriT voices, or to hold a conifoi-tuble cliat 
"vvith some old friend ; because then his pillow would be 
visited by pleasant dreams. But, as neither children nor 
friends were at hand, Grandfather leaned back in the 
great chair and closed his eyes, for the sake of meditat- 
ing more profoundly. 

And, when Grandfather's meditations had grown very 
profound indeed, he fancied that he heard a sound over 
his head, as if somebody were preparing to speak. 

" Hem ! " it said, m a dry, husky tone. " H-e-m ! 
Hem ! " 

As Grandfather did not know that any person was in 
the room, he started up in great surprise, and peeped 
hither and thither, behind the chair, and into the recess 
by thj fires'de, and at the dark nook yonder near the 
bookcase. Nobody could he see. 

" Poll ! " said Grandfather to himself, " I must have 
been dreaming." 

But, just as he was going to resume his seat, Grandfa- 
ther happened to look at the great chair. The rays of 
tirelight were flickering upon it in such a manner that it 
really seemed as if its oaken frame were all alive. What ! 
did it not move its elbow ? There, too ! It certainly 
lifted one of its ponderous fore legs, as if it had a 
notion of drawing itself a little nearer to the fire. Mean- 
wliile the lion's head nodded at Grandfather with as 
polite and sociable a look as a lion's visage, carved in 
oak, could possibly be expected to assume. Well, this 
is strange ! 

" Good evening, my old friend," said the dry and 
husky voice, now a little clearer than before. " We 
have been intimately acquainted so long that I think 
it high time we have a chat together." 

Grandfather was looking straight at the lion's head, 

N 



210 GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 

and could not be mistaken in supposing tliat it moved 
its lips. So here the mystery was all explained. 

" 1 was not aware," said Grandfather, with a civil 
salutation to his oaken companion, " tliat you possessed 
the faculty of speech. Otherwise I should often have 
been glad to converse with such a solid, useful, and 
substantial if not brilliant member of society." 

" Oh 1 " replied the ancient chair, in a quiet and easy 
tone ; for it had now cleared its throat of the dust ot 
ages. "I am naturally a silent and incommunicative 
sort of character. Once or twice in the course of a 
century I unclose my lips. When the gentle Lady Ar- 
bella departed this life I uttered a groan. When the 
lionest mint-master weighed his plump daughter against 
the pine-tree shillings I chuckled audibly at the joke. 
Wlien old Simon Bradstreet took the place of the tyrant 
Andros I joined in the general huzza, and capered on my 
wooden legs for joy. To be sure, the bystanders were 
so fully occupied with their own feelings that my sym- 
pathy was quite unnoticed." 

" And have you often held a private chat with your 
friends?" asked Grandfather. 

"Not often," answered the chair. "I once talked 
with Sir William Phipps, and communicated my ideas 
about the witchcraft delusion. Cotton Mather had sev- 
eral conversations with me, and derived great benefit 
from my historical reminiscences. In the days of the 
Stamp Act I whispered in the ear of Hutchinson, bidding 
him to remember what stock his countrymen were de- 
scended of, and to think whether the spirit of their fore- 
fatliers had utterly departed froQi them. The last man 
wliom I favored with a colloquy was that stout old re- 
publican, Samuel Adams." 

"And how happens it," inquired Grandfather, "that 



GEANDFAXPER'S CHAIR. 211 

there is no record nor tradition of your conversational 
abilities ! It is an uncommon thing to meet with a chair 
that can talk." 

" Why, to tell you the truth," said the chair, giving 
itself a hitch nearer to the hearth, "I am not apt to 
choose the most suitable moments for unclosing my lips. 
Sometimes I have inconsiderately begun to speak, when 
my occupant, lolling back in my arms, was inclined to 
take an after-dinner nap. Or perhaps the impulse to 
talk may be felt at midnight, when the lamp burns dim 
and the fire crumbles into decay, and the studious or 
thoughtful man finds that his brain is in a mist. Often- 
est 1 have unwisely uttered my wisdom in the ears of 
sick persons, when the inquietude of fever made them 
toss about upon my cushion. And so it happens, that 
though my words make a pretty strong impression at 
the moment, yet my auditors invariably remember them 
only as a dream. I should not wonder if you, my ex- 
cellent friend, were to do the same to-morrow morn- 
ing." 

" Nor I either," thought Grandfather to himself. 

However, he thanked this respectable old chair for be- 
ginning the conversation, and bagged to know whether it 
had anything particular to communicate. 

" I have been listening attentively to your narrative of 
my adventures," replied the chair; "and it must be 
owned that your correctness entitles you to be held up as 
a pattern to biographers. Nevertheless, there are a few 
omissions which I should be glad to see supplied. For 
instance, you make no mention of the good knight Sir 
Richard Saltonstall, nor of tlie famous Hugh Peters, nor 
of those old regicide judges, Whalley, Goife, and Dixwell. 
Yet I have borne the weight of all those distinguished 
characters at one time or another." 



212 GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 

Grandfatlier promised anieudineiit if ever lie should 
have an opportunity to repeat his narrative. The good 
old chair, which still seemed to retain a due regard for 
outward appearance, tiien reminded him how long a time 
had passed since it had been provided with a new cush- 
ion. It likewise expressed the opinion that the oaken 
figures on its back would show to much better advantage 
by the aid of a little varnish. 

" And T have had a complaint in this joint," continued 
tiie chair, endeavoring to lift one of its legs, "ever since 
Cliarley trundled his wheelbarrow against me." 

"It shall be attended to," said Grandfatlier. "And 
now, venerable chair, I have a favor to solicit. During 
an existence of more than two centuries you have had a 
familiar intercourse with men who were esteemed the 
■wisest of their day. Doubtless, with your capacious un- 
derstanding, you have treasured up many an invalualile 
lesson of wisdom. You certainly iiave had time enougli 
to guess the riddle of hfe. Tell us poor mortals, then, 
how we may be happy." 

The lion's head fixed its eyes thouglitfully upon the 
fire, and the whole chair assumed an aspect of deep med- 
itation. Finally it beckoned to Grandfather with its 
elbow, and made a step sideways towards him, as if it 
had a very important secret to communicate. 

" As long as I Iiave stood in the midst of hnman affairs," 
said the chair, with a very oracular enunciation, "I have 
constantly observed that Justice, Truth, and Love are 
the chief ingredients of every happy life." 

"Justice, Truth, and Love !" exclaimed Grandftither. 
" We need not exist two centuries to find out that these 
qualities are essential to our happiness. This is no se- 
cret. Every human being is born with the instinctive 
knowlcdsre of it." 



GRANDFATHER'S CHAIR. 213 

"All!" cried tlie cliair, drawing back in surprise. 
*' From what I have observed of the dealings of man with 
man, and nation with nation, I never should liave sus- 
pected that they knew this all-important secret. And, 
with this eternal lesson written in your soul, do you ask 
me to sift new wisdom for you out of my petty existence 
of two or three centuries ? " 

"But, my dear chair — " said Grandfather. 

" Not a word more," interrupted the chair ; " here I 
close my lips for the next hundred years. At the end of 
that period, if I shall have discovered any new precepts 
of happiness better than what Heaven has already taught 
you, they shall assuredly be given to the world." 

In the energy of its utterance the oaken cliair seemed 
to stamp its foot, and trod (we hope unintentionally) upon 
Grandfather's toe. The old gentleman started, and found 
that he had been asleep in the great chair, and that his 
heavy walking-stick had fallen down across his foot. 

"Grandfather," cried little Alice, clapping her hands, 
"vou must dream a new dream every night about our 
chair ! " 

Laurence, and Clara, and Charley said the same. But 
the good old gentlenuui shook his head, and declared that 
here ended the history, real or fabulous, of Gkandfa- 
ther's Chair. 




I 



0« iS?SSi>,'?>S5:;iA/ 



I 

I 



BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES 



BENJAMIN WEST. 
SIR ISAAC NEWTON. 
SAMUEL JOHNSON. 



OLIVER CROMWELL. 
BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 
QUEEN CHRISTINA. 




'^»^ 



TfTis small volume anrl others of a similar character, 
from the same hand, have not been composed without a 
deep sense of responsibility. The author regards chil- 
dren as sacred, and would not, for tlie world, cast any- 
thing into the fountain of a young heart 'that might em- 
bitter and pollute its waters. And, even in point of tlie 
reputation to be aimed at, juvenile literature is as well 
worth cultivating as any other. The writer, if he succeed 
in pleasing his little readers, may hope to be remembered 
by them till their own old age, — a far longer period of 
literary existence than is generally attained by those who 
seek immortality from the judgments of full-grown men. 




BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 



CHAPTEE I. 




HEN Edward Temple was about eiglit or nine 
years old he was afflicted with a disorder of the 
eyes. It was so severe, and his sight was nat- 
urally so delicate, that the surgeon felt some apprehen- 
sions lest the boy should become totally blind. He 
therefore gave strict directions to keep him in a dark- 
ened chamber, W'ith a bandage over his eyes. Not a ray 
of the blessed light of heaven could be suffered to visit 
the poor lad. 

This was a sad thing for Edward. It was just ihe 
same as if there w^ere to be no more sunshine, nor moon- 
light, nor glow of the cheerful fire, nor light of lamps. 
A night had begun which was to continue perhaps for 
months, — a longer and drearier night than that which 
voyagers are compelled to endure when their ship is ice- 
bound, throughout the winter, in the Arctic Ocean. His 
dear father and mother, his brother George, and the 
sweet face of little Emily Robinson must all vanish and 
leave him in utter darkness and solitude. Their voices 
and footsteps, it is true, would be heard around him ; he 
would feel his mother's embrace and the kiud pressure 
10 



218 BIOGEAPHICAL STORIES. 

of all their hands ; but still it would seem as if they were 
a thousand miles away. 

And then his studies, — they were to be entirely given 
up. This was another grievous trial ; for Edward's 
memory hardly went back to the period when he had 
not known how to read. Many and many a holiday had 
he spent at his book, poring over its pages until ths 
deepening tM'ilight confused the print and made all the 
letters run into long words. Then would he press his 
hands across his eyes and wonder why they pained him 
so; and when the candles were lighted, what was the 
reason that they burned so dimly, hke the moon in a 
foggy night ? Poor little fellow ! So far as his eyes 
were concerned he was already an old man, and needed 
a pair of spectacles almost as much as his own grand- 
father did. 

And now, alas ! the time was come when even grand- 
father's spectacles could not have assisted Edward to 
read. 'After a few bitter tears, which only pained his 
eyes the more, the poor boy submitted to the surgeon's 
orders. His eyes were bandaged, and, with his mother 
on one side and his little friend Emily on the other, he 
was led into a darkened chamber. 

" Mother, I shall be very miserable ! " said Edward, 
sobbing. 

" O no, my dear child ! " replied his mother, cheer- 
fully. " Your eyesight was a precious gift of Heaven, it 
is true ; but you would do wrong to be miserable for its 
loss, even if there were no hope of regaining it. There 
are other enjoyments besides what come to us through 
our eyes." 

" None that are worth having," said Edward. 

" Ah, but you will not think so long," rejoined Mrs. 
Temple, with 1 endjrness. " All of us — your father, and 



BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 219 

myself, and George, and our sweet Emily — will try to 
find occupation and amusement for you. We will use 
all our eyes to make you bappy. Will they not be better 
than a single pair ?." 

" I will sit by you all day long," said Emily, in her 
low, sweet voice, putting her hand into that of Edward. 

"And so will I, Ned," said George, his elder brother, 
" school time and all, if my fatlier will permit me." 

Edward's brother George was three or four years older 
than himself, — a fine, hardy lad, of a bold and ardent 
temper. He was the leader of his comrades in all their 
enterprises and amusements. As to his proficiency at 
study there was not much to be said. He had sense and 
ability enough to have made himself a scholar, but found 
so many pleasanter things to do that he seldom took hold 
of a book with his whole heart. So fond was George of 
boisterous sports and exercises that it was really a great 
token of affection and sympathy when he offered to sit all 
day long in a dark chamber with his poor brother Ed- 
ward. 

As for little Emily Kobinson, she was the daughter of 
one of Mr. Temple's dearest friends. Ever since her 
mother went to heaven (which was soon after Emily's 
birth) the little girl had dwelt in the household where 
we now find her. Mr. and Mrs. Temple seemed to love 
her as well as tlieir own children ; for they had no daugh- 
ter except Emily ; nor would the boys have known the 
blessing of a sister had not this gentle stranger come to 
teach them what it was. If I could show you Emily's 
face, with her dark hair smoothed away from her forehead, 
you would be pleased with her look of simplicity and lov- 
ing kindness, but might think that she was somewhat too 
grave for a child of seven years old. But you would not 
love her the less for that. 



220 BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 

So brother George and this loving little girl were to 
be Edward's companions and playmates while he should 
be kept prisoner in the dark chamber. Wiien the first 
bitterness of his grief was over lie began to feel that 
tliere might be some comforts and enjoyments in life 
even for a boy whose eyes were covered with a band- 
age. 

" I thank you, dear mother," said he, with only a few 
sobs ; " and you, Emily ; and you too, George. You 
will all be very kind to me, I know. And my father, — 
will not he come and see me every day ? " 

" Yes, my dear boy," said Mr. Temple ; for, though 
invisible to Edward, he was standing close beside him. 
" I will spend some hours of every day with you. And 
as I have often amused you by relating stories and 
adventures while you had the use of your eyes, I can do 
the same now that you are unable to read. Will this 
please you, Edward ? " 

*' O, very much," replied Edward. 

" Well, then," said his father, " this evening we will 
begin the series of Biographical Stories which I promised 
you some time ago." 




CHAPTER II 






HEN evening came, Mr. Temple found Edward 
considerably revived iu spirits and disposed to 
be resigned to his mislbrtuue. Indeed, the fig- 
ure of the boy, as it was dimly seen by the fireligjit, 
reclining iu a well-stuffed easy-chair, looked so very 
comfortable that many people might have envied him. 
When a man's eyes have grown old with gazing at the 
ways of the world, it does not seem such a terrible mis- 
fortune to have them bandaged. 

Little Emily Robinson sat by Edward's side with the 
air of an accomplished nurse. As well as the duskiness 
of the chamber would permit she watched all his motions 
and each varying expression of his face, and tried to 
anticipate her patient's wishes before his tongue could 
utter them. Yet it was noticeable that the child mani- 
fested an indescribable awe and disquietude whenever 
she fixed lier eyes on the bandage ; for, to her simple 
and affectionate heart, it seemed as if her dear friend 
Edward was separated from her because she could not 
see his eyes. A friend's eyes tell us many things which 
could never be spoken by the tongue. 

George, likewise, looked awkward and confused, as 
stout and healthy boys are accustomed to do iu the soci- 
ety of the sick or afflicted. Never having felt pain or 
sorrow, they are abashed, from not knowing how to sym- 
pathize with the sufferings of others. 



222 BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 

" Well, my dear Edward," inquired Mrs, Temple, " is 
your chair quite comfortable ? and has your little nurse 
provided for all your wants ? If so, your father is ready 
to begin his stories." 

"O, 1 am very well now," ansAVcrcd Edward, with a 
faint smile. " And my ears have not forsaken me, tliou<,'h 
my eyes are good for nothing. So pray, dear father, 
begin." 

It was Mr. Temple's design to tell the children a scries 
of true stories, the incidents of which should be taken 
from the cliildliood and early life of eminent people. 
Tims he hoped to bring George, and Edward, and Emily 
into closer acquaintance with the famous persons who 
have lived in other times by showing that they also had 
been children once. Although Mr. Temple was scrupu- 
lous to relate nothing but what was founded on fact, yet 
lie felt himself at liberty to clothe the incidents of his 
narrative in a new coloring, so that his auditors might 
understand them the better. 

" ^[y first story," said he, " shall bo about a painter of 
pictures." 

" Dear me ! " cried Edward, with a sigh. " I am afraid 
I shall never look at pictures any more." 

" We will hope for the best," answered his father. " In 
the mean time, you must try to see things within your 
own mind." 

Mr. Temple then began the following story : — 

BENJAMIN WEST. 

[BORN 1738. Died 1820.J 

In the year 1738 there came into the world, in the 
town of Springfield, Pennsylvania, a Quaker infant, from 
whom his parents and neighbors looked for woudjrful 



I 



BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 223 

things. A famous prcaclier of iho Sociol v of Frioiids had 
prophesied about little Ben, and foretold that he would 
be one of the most remarkable characters that had ap- 
peared on the earth since the days of William Pcnn. On 
this account the eyes of many people were fixed upon the 
boy. Some of his ancestors iiad won great renown in the 
old wars of England and France ; but it was probably 
expected that Ben would become a prcaclier, and woukl 
convert multitudes to the peaceful doctrines of the Qua- 
kers. Friend West and his wife were thought to be very 
fortunate in having such a son. 

Little Ben lived to the ripe age of six years without 
doing anything that was worthy to be told in history. 
But one sunnner afternoon, in his seventh year, his mother 
put a fan into his hand and bade him keep the flics away 
from the face of a little babe who lay fast asleep in the 
cradle. She then left the room. 

The boy waved the fan to and fro and drove away the 
buzzing llies whenever they had the impertinence to 
come near the baby's face. When they had all flown out 
of the window or into distant parts of the room, he bent 
over the cradle and delighted himself with gnziug at the 
sleeping infant. It was, indeed, a very pretty sight. 
The little ])ersonage in the cradle slumbered peacefully, 
with its waxen hands under its chin, looking as full of 
blissful quiet as if angels were singing lullabies in its 
ear. Indeed, it must have been dreaming about heaven ; 
for, while Ben stooped over the cradle, the little baby 
smiled. 

" How beautiful she looks ! " said Ben to himself. 
*' What a pity it is that such a pretty smile should not 
last forever ! " 

Now Ben, at this period of his life, had never hoard 
of that wonderful art by which a look, that appears and 



224 BIOGRAPHICAL STOEIES. 

vanishes in a moment, may be made to last for liuudreds 
of years. But, tliough nobody had told him of such an 
art, he may be said to have invented it for himself. On 
a table near at hand there were pens and paper, and ink 
of two colors, black and red. The boy seized a pen and 
sheet of paper, and, kneeling down beside tlie cradle, 
began to draw a likeness of the infant. While he W"as 
busied in this manner he heard his mother's step approach- 
ing, and hastily tried to conceal the paper. 

" Benjamin, my son, what hast thou been doing ? " 
inquired his mother, observing marks of confusion in his 
face. 

At first Ben was unwilling to tell ; for he felt as if 
there might be something wrong in stealing the baby's 
face and puttiug it upon a sheet of paper. However, 
as his mother insisted, he finally put the sketch into her 
hand, and then hung his head, expecting to be well 
scolded. But when the good lady saw what was on the 
paper, in lines of red and black ink, she uttered a scream 
of surprise and joy. 

" Bless me ! " cried she, " It is a picture of little 
Sally ! " 

And then she threw her arms round our friend Ben- 
jamin, and kissed him so tenderly that he never after- 
wards was afraid to show his performances to his mother. 

As Ben grew older, he was observed to take vast delight 
in looking at the hues and forms of nature. For instance, 
he was gi'eatly pleased with the blue violets of spring, the 
wild roses of summer, and the scarlet cardinal-flowers of 
early autumn. In the decline of the year, when the 
woods were variegated with all the colors of the rainbow, 
Ben seemed to desire nothing better than to gaze at 
them from morn till night. The purple and golden 
clouds of sunset were a joy to him. And he was con- 



BIOGEAPHICAL STORIES. 225 

tinually endeavoring to draw the figures of trees, men, 
mountains, houses, cattle, geese, ducks, and turkeys, 
with a piece of chalk, on barn doors or on the floor. 

In these old times tlie Moliawk Indians were still nu- 
merous in Pennsylvania. Every year a party of them 
used to pay a visit to Springfield, because the wigwams 
of their ancestors had formerly stood there. These wild 
men grew fond of little Ben, and made him very happy 
by giving him some of the red and yellow paint with 
which they were accustomed to adorn their faces. His 
mother, too, presented him with u piece of indigo. Thus 
he now had three colors, — red, blue, and yellow, — and 
could manufacture green by mixing the yellow with the 
blue. Our friend Ben was overjoyed, and doubtless 
showed his gratitude to the Indians by taking their like- 
nesses in the strange dresses wliich they wore, with feath- 
ers, tomahawks, and bows and arrows. 

But all this time the young artist had no paint-brushes ; 
nor were there any to be bought, unless he had seiit to 
Philadelphia on purpose. However, he was a very in- 
genious boy, and resoh^d to manufacture paint-bruslies 
for himself. With this design he laid hold upon — what 
do you think ? Wliy, upon a respectable old black cat, 
who was sleeping quietly by the fireside. 

" Puss," said little Ben to the cat, " pray give me some 
of the fur from the tip of thy tail ? " 

Though lie addressed the black cat so civilly, yet Ben 
was determined to have the fur whether she were willing 
or not. Puss, ^^lo had no great zeal for the fine arts, 
would have resisted if she could ; but the boy was 
armed with his mother's scissors, and very dexterously 
cli]>ped off fur enough to make a paint-brush. This was 
of so much use to him that he applied to Madame Puss 
again and again, until her warm coat of fur had become 
10* o 



2:26 BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 

SO thin and ragged that she could hardly keep comfortable 
through the whiter. Poor thmg! she was forced to 
creep close into the chimney-corner, and eyed Ben with a 
very rueful physiognomy. But Ben considered it more 
necessary that he should have paint-brushes than that 
puss should be warm. 

About this period friend West received a visit from 
Mr. Pennington, a merchant of Philadelphia, w^lio was 
likewise a member of the Society of Friends. The vis- 
itor, on entering the parlor, was surprised to see it orna- 
mented with drawings of Indian chiefs, and of birds with 
beautiful plumage, and of the wild flowers of the forest. 
Nothing of the kind was ever seen before in the habita- 
tion of a Quaker farmer. 

" Why, Friend West," exclaimed the Philadelphia mer- 
chant, " what has possessed thee to cover thy walls with 
all these pictures ? Where on earth didst thou get 
them ? " 

Then Friend West explained that all these pictures 
were painted by little Ben, with no better materials than 
red and yellow ochre and a piece of indigo, and wdth 
brushes made of the black cat's fur. 

"Verily," said Mr. Pennington, "the boy hath a won- 
derful faculty. Some of our friends might look upon 
these matters as vanity ; but little Benjamin appears to 
have been born a painter ; and Providence is wiser than 
we are." 

The good merchant patted Benjamin on the head, and 
evidently considered him a wonderful boy. When his 
parents saw how much their son's performances were ad- 
mired, they, no doubt, remembered the prophecy of the 
old Quaker preacher respecting Ben's future eminence. 
Yet they could not understand how he was ever to be- 
come a very great and useful man merely by making 
pictures. 



I 

I 



BIOGRAPHICAL STOUIES. 227 

One evening, shortly after Mr. Pennington's return to 
Philadelphia, a package arrived at Springfield, directed 
to our little friend Ben. 

" What can it possibly be ? " thought Ben, -when it 
was put into his hands. " Who can have sent me such a 
great square package as this ? " 

On taking off the thick brown paper which enveloped 
it, behold ! there was a paint-box, with a great many 
cakes of paint, and brushes of various sizes. It was the 
gift of good Mr. Pennington. There were likewise sev- 
eral squares of canvas such as artists use for painting 
pictures upon, and, in addition to all these treasures, 
some beautiful engravings of landscapes. These Avere 
the first pictures that Ben had ever seen, except those of 
his own drawing. 

What a joyful evening was this for the little artist ! 
At bedtime he put the paint-box under his pillow, and 
got hardly a wink of sleep ; for, all night long, his fancy 
was painting pictures in the darkness. In the morning 
he hurried to the garret, and was seen no more till the 
dinner-hour ; nor did he give himself time to eat more 
than a mouthful or two of food before he hurried back to 
the garret again. The next day, and the next, he was 
just as busy as ever ; until at last his mother thought it 
time to ascertain what he was about. She accordingly 
followed him to the garret. 

On opening the door, the first object that presented 
itself to her eyes was our friend Benjamin, giving the last 
touches to a beautiful picture. He had copied portions 
of two of the engravings, and made one picture out of 
both, with such admirable skill that it was far more beau- 
tiful than the originals. The grass, the trees, the water, 
the sky, and the houses were all painted in their proper 
colors. There, too, Avere the sunshine and the shadow, 
looking as natural as life. 



228 BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 

" My dear cliild, thou hast done wonders ! " cried his 
motlier. 

The good lady was in an ecstasy of dehght. And well 
might she be proud of her boy ; for there were touches 
in this picture which old artists, who had spent a lifetime 
in the business, need not have been ashamed of. Many 
a year afterwards, this wonderful production was exhib- 
ited at the Royal Academy in London. 

When Benjamin was quite a large lad he was sent to 
school at Philadelphia. Not long after his arrival he had 
a slight attack of fever, which confined him to his bed. 
The light, which would otherwise have disturbed him, 
was excluded from his chamber by means of closed 
wooden shutters. At first it appeared so totally dark 
that Ben could not distinguish any object in the room. 
By degrees, however, his eyes became accustomed to the 
scanty light. 

He was lying on his back, looking up towards the ceil- 
ing, when suddenly he beheld the dim apparition of a 
white cow uioving slowly over his head ! Ben started, 
and rubbed his eyes in the greatest amazement, 

" Wiiat can this mean ? " thought he. 

Tlie white cow disappeared ; and next came several 
pigs, which trotted along the ceiling and vanished into 
the darkness of the cliamber. So lifelike did these grunt- 
ers look that Ben almost seemed to hear them squeak. 

" Well, this is very strange ! " said Ben to himself. 

When the people of the liouse came to see him, Benja- 
min told them of the marvellous circumstance which had 
occurred. But they would not believe him. 

" Benjamin, thou art surely out of thy senses ! " cried 
they. " How is it possible that a white cow and a litter 
of pigs should be visible on the ceiling of a dark cham- 
ber?" 



BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 229 

Ben, liowever, liad great confidence iu liis own eye- 
siglit, and was determined to search the mvstery to the 
bottom. For this purpose, when he was again left alone, 
he got out of bed and examined the window-shutters. 
He soon perceived a small chink in one of them, through 
which a ray of liglit found its passage and rested upon 
the ceiling. Now, the science of optics will inform us 
that the pictures of the white cow and the pigs, and of 
other objects out of doors, came into the dark chamber 
through tiiis narrow chink, and w^ere painted over Benja- 
min's head. It is greatly to his credit that he discovered 
the scientific principle of this phenomenon, and by means 
of it constructed a camera-obscura, or magic-lantern, out 
of a hollow box. This was of great advantage to him iu 
drawing landscapes. 

Well, time went on, and Benjamin continued to draw 
and paint pictures until he had now reached the age 
when it was proper that he should choose a business for 
life. His father and mother were in considerable per- 
plexity about him. According to the ideas of the Qua- 
kers, it is not right for people to spend their lives in oc- 
cupations that are of no real and sensible advantage to 
the world. Now, what advantage could the world expect 
from Benjamin's pictures? This Avas a difficult ques- 
tion ; and, in order to set their minds at rest, his parents 
determined to consult the ])reachers and wise men of 
their society. Accordingly, they all assembled in the 
meeting-house, and discussed the matter from beginning 
to end. 

Finally they came to a very wise decision. It seemed 
so evident that Providence had created Benjamin to be 
a painter, and had given him abilities which would be 
thrown away in any other business, that the Quakers 
resolved not to oppose his inclination. They even ac- 



230 BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 

kuowledged that the sight of a beautiful picture might 
convey instruction to the mind and might benefit the 
heart as much as a good book or a wise discourse. They 
therefore committed the youth to the direction of God, 
being well assured that he best knew wliat was his proper 
sphere of usefuhiess. The old men laid their hands upon 
Benjamin's head and gave him their blessing, and the 
women kissed him affectionately. All consented that he 
siioukl go forth into the world and learn to be a painter 
by studying the best pictures of ancient and modern 
times. 

So our friend Benjamin left the dwelling of his parents, 
and his native woods and streams, and the good Quakers 
of Springfield, and the Indians who had given him liis 
first colors ; he left all the places and persons whom he 
had hitherto known, and returned to them no more. He 
went first to Philadslphia, and afterwards to Europe. 
Here he was noticed by many great peo])le, but retained 
all the sobriety and simplicity which he iuid learned among 
the Quakers. It is related of him, that, when he was 
presented at the court of the Prince of Parma, he kept his 
hat upon his head even while kissing the Prince's hand. 

When he was twenty-five years old he went to London 
and established himself there as an artist. Indue course 
of time he acquired great fame by his pictures, and was 
made chief painter to King George III. and president of 
the Royal Academy of Arts. When the Quakers of 
Pennsylvania iieard of his success, they felt that the 
prophecy of the old preacher as to little Ben's future 
eminence was now accomplished. It is true, tliey shook 
their heads at his pictures of battle and bloodshed, such 
as the Death of Wolfe, thinking that these terrible scenes 
should not be held up to the admiration of the world. 

But they approved of the great paintings in wiiich he 



BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 231 

represented the miracles and sutferiiigs of the Redeemer 
of mankind. King George employed him to adorn a 
large and beautiful chapel at Windsor Castle with pic- 
tures of these sacred subjects. He likewise painted a 
magnificent picture of Christ Healing the Sick, Avhich he 
gave to the hospital at Philadelphia. It was exhibited 
to the public, and produced so much profit that the 
liospital was enlarged so as to accommodate thirty more 
patients. If Benjamin West had done no other good 
deed than this, yet it would have been enough to en- 
title him to an honorable remembrance forever. At this 
very day there are thirty poor people in the hospital 
who owe all their comforts to that same picture. 

We shall mention only a single incident more. The 
picture of Christ Healing the Sick was exhibited at the 
Royal Academy in London, where it covered a vast space 
and displayed a multitude of figures as large as life. On 
the wall, close beside this admirable picture, hnng a 
small and faded landscape. It was the same that little 
Ben had painted in his father's garret, after receiving the 
paint-box and engravings from good Mr. Pennington. 

He lived many years in peace and honor, and died in 
1820, at the age of eighty-two. The story of his life is 
almost as Avonderful as a fairy tale ; for there are few 
stranger transformations than that of a little unknown 
Quaker boy, in the wilds of America, into the most dis- 
tinguished English painter of his day. Let us each make 
the best use of our natural abilities as Benjamin West 
did ; and, with the blessing of Providence, we shall 
arrive at some good end. As for fame, it is but little 
matter whether we acquire it or not. 

" Thank you for the story, my dear father," said Ed- 
ward, when it was finished. " Do you know that it 



232 BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 

seems as if I could see things witliout the help of my 
eyes ? While you were speaking I have seen little 
Ben, and the baby in its cradle, and the Indians, and the 
white cow, and the pigs, and kind Mr. Pennington, and 
all the good old Quakers, almost as plainly as if they 
were in this very room." 

"It is because your attention was not dislurbed by 
outward objects," replied Mr. Temple. "People, when 
deprived of sight, often have more vivid ideas than those 
who possess tlie perfect use of their eyes. I will venture 
to say that George has not attended to the story quite so 
closely." 

" No, indeed," said George ; " but it was a very pretty 
story for all that. How I should have laughed to see 
Ben making a paint-brush out of the black cat's tail ! I 
intend to try the experiment with Emily's kitten." 

" O no, no, George ! " cried Emily, earnestly. " My 
kitten cannot spare her tail." 

Edward being an invalid, it was now time for him to 
retire to bed. When the family bade him good night 
lie turned his face towards them, looking very loath to 
part. 

" I shall not know when morning comes," said he, 
sorrowfully. " And besides, I want to hear your voices 
. all the time ; for, when nobody is speaking, it seems as if 
I were alone in a dark world." 

"You nnist have faith, my dear child," replied his 
mother. "Faith is the soul's eyesight; and when we 
possess it the Morld is never dark nor lonely." 





^^s 


^ 


^^ 






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L/^x \i\^^vNU 




CHAPTEE III. 

HE next day Edward began to get accustomed 
to liis new condition of lite. Once, indeed, 
wlien his parents were out of the way and only 
Emily was left to take care of him, he could not resist 
the temptation to thrust aside the bandage and peep at 
the anxious face of his little nurse. But, in spite of the 
dimness of the chamber, the experiment caused him so 
much pain that he felt no inclination to Take another 
look. So, with a deep sigh, he resigned himself to his 
fate. 

" Emily, pray talk to me ! " said he, somewhat impa- 
tiently. 

Now, Emily was a remarkably silent little girl, and did 
not possess that liveliness of disposition which renders 
some children such excellent companions. She seldom 
laughed, and had not the faculty of making many words 
about small matters. But the love and earnestness of her 
heart taught her how to amuse poor Edward in his dark- 
ness. She put her knitting-work into his hands. 

"You must learn how to knit," said she. 

" What ! without using my eyes ? " cried Edward. 

" I can knit with my eyes shut," replied Emily. 

Then with her own httle hands she guided Edward's 
fingers while he set about this new occupation. So awk- 



S34 BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 

ward were his first attempts that any other little girl would 
have laughed heartily. But Emily preserved her gravity, 
and showed the utmost patience in takiug up the innu- 
merable stitches which he let down. In the course of 
an hour or two his progress was quite encouraging. 

When evening came, Edward acknowledged that the 
day had been far less wearisouie than he anticipated. 
But he was glad, nevertheless, when his father and 
mother, and George and Emily, all took their seals 
around his chair. He put out his hand to grasp each of 
their hands, and smiled with a very bright expression 
upon his lips. 

" Now I can see you all with my mind's eye," said he. 
" And now, father, pray tell us another story." 

Sj Mr. Temple began. 

SIR ISAAC NEWTON-. 

[Born 1642. Died 1727. J 

On Christmas day, in the year 1642, Isaac Newton was 
born at the small village of Woolsthorpe, in England. 
Little did his mother tlunk, when she beheld her new- 
born babe, that he was destined to explain many matters 
which had been a mystery ever since the creation of the 
world. 

Isaac's father being dead, Mrs. Newton was married 
again to a clergyman, and went to reside at North 
Witham. Her son was left to the care of his good old 
grandmother, who was very kind to liim and sent him to 
school. In his early years Isaac did not appear to be a 
very bright scholar, but was chiefly remarkable for his 
ingenuity in all mechanical occupations. He had a set 
of little tools and saws of various sizes manufactured by 
himself. With the aid of these Isaac contrived to make 



BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 235 

many curious articles, at wliicli lie worked with so much 
skill that he seemed to have been born witb a saw or 
chisel in hand. 

The neighbors looked with vast admiration at the 
things which Isaac manufactured. And liis old grand- 
mother, I suppose, was never weary of talking about 
him. 

"He'll make a capital workman one of these /lays," 
she would probably say. " No fear but what Isaac will 
do well in the world and be a rich man before he dies." 

It is amusing to conjecture what were the anticipa- 
tions of his grandmother and the neighbors about Isaac's 
future life. Some of them, perhaps, fancied that he 
would make beautiful furniture of mahogany, rosewood, 
or polished oak, inlaid with ivory and ebony, and magni- 
ficently gilded. And then, doubtless, all the rich people 
would purchase these fine things to adorn their drawing- 
rooms. Others probably thought that little Isaac was 
destined to be an architect, and would build splendid 
mansions for the nobility and gentry, and churches too, 
with the tallest steeples that had ever been seen in Eng- 
land. 

Some of his friends, no doubt, advised Isaac's grand- 
mother to apprentice him to a clock-maker ; for, besides 
his mechanical skill, the boy seemed to have a taste for 
mathematics, which would be very useful to him in that 
profession. And then, in due time, Isaac would set up 
for himself, and would manufacture curious clocks, like 
those that contain sets of dancing figures, which issue 
from the dial-plate when ihe hour is struck ; or like those 
where a ship sails across the face of the clock, and is 
seen tossing up and down on the waves as often as the 
pendulum vibrates. 

Indeed, there was some ground for supposing that 



236 BIOGKAPHICAL STORIES. 

Isaac would devote himself to the manufacture of clocks; 
since he had already made one, of a kind which nobody 
had ever heard of before. It was set a-going, not by 
wheels and weights like other clocks, but by the drop- 
ping of water. This was an object of great wonderment 
to all the people round about ; and it must be confessed 
that there are few boys, or men either, who could con- 
trive to tell what o'clock it is by means of a bowl of 
water. 

Besides the water-clock, Isaac made a sundial. Thus 
his grandmother was never at a loss to know the hour ; 
for the water-clock would tell it in the shade, and the dial 
in the sunshine. The sundial is said to be still in exist- 
ence at Woolsthorpe, on tlie corner of the house where 
Isaac dwelt. If so, it must have marked the passage of 
every sunny hour that has elapsed since Isaac Newton 
was a boy. It marked all the famous uioments of his life ; it 
marked the hour of his death ; and still tlie sunshine creeps 
slowly over it, as regularly as when Isaac first set it up. 

Yet we must not say tiiat the sundial has lasted longer 
than its maker ; for Isaac Newton will exist long after 
the dial — yea, and long after the sun itself — shall have 
crumbled to decay. 

Isaac possessed a wonderful faculty of acquiring knowl- 
edge by the simplest means. For instance, what method 
do you suppose he took to find out the strength of the 
wind ? You will never guess how the boy could compel 
that unseen, inconstant, and ungovernable wonder, the 
wind, to tell him the measure of its strength. Yet 
nothing can be more simple. He jumped against the 
wind; and by the length of his jump he could calculate 
the force of a gentle breeze, a brisk gale, or a tempest. 
Thus, even in his boyish sports, he was coutiuually 
searching out the secrets of philosophy. 



BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 237 

Not far from liis graiidmotlier's residence there was 
a wmdniill which operated on a new plan. Isaac was in 
the liabit of going thither frequent h% and would spend 
whole hours in examining its various parts. While the 
mill Avas at rest he pried into its internal macliinery. 
When its broad sails were set in motion by the wind, he 
watched the process by which the mill-stones were made 
to revolve and crush the grain tiiat Avas put into the 
hopper. After gaining a thorough knowledge of its con- 
struction he was observed to be unusually busy with his 
tools. 

It was not long before his grandmother and all the 
neighborhood knew what Isaac had been about. He had 
constructed a model of the windmill. Though not so 
large, I suppose, as one of the box traps which boys set 
to catch squirrels, yet every part of the mill and its ma- 
chinery was complete. Its little sails were neatly made 
of linen, and whirled round very swiftly when the mill 
was placed in a draught of air. Even a pufp of wind 
from Isaac's mouth or from a pair of bellows was suffi- 
cient to set the sails in motion. And, what was most 
curious, if a handful of grains of wheat were put into 
the little hopper, they would soon be converted into 
snow-white flour. 

Isaac's playmates were enchanted with his new wind- 
mill. They thought that nothing so pretty and so won- 
derful had ever been seen in the whole world. 

"But, Isaac," said one of them, "you have forgotten 
one thing that belongs to a mill." 

" What is that ? " asked Isaac ; for he supposed that, 
from the roof of the mill to its foundation, he had forgot- 
ten nothing. 

"Why, where is the miller?" said his friend. 

" That is true, — I must look out for one," said Isaac ; 



238 BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 

and he set himself to consider liow the deficiency should 
be supplied. 

He might easily liave made the miniature figure of a 
man ; but then it would not have been able to move 
about and pertbrin the duties of a miller. As Captain 
Lemuel Gulliver had not yet discovered the island of 
Lilliput, Is^ac did not know that there were little men in 
the world whose size was just suited to his windmill. It 
so happened, however, that, a mouse had just been caught 
in tlie trap ; and, as no other miller could be found, Mr. 
Mouse was appointed to that important office. The new- 
miller made a very respectable appearance in his dark- 
gray coat. To be sure, he had not a very good character 
for honesty, and was suspected of sometiuies stealing a 
portion of the grain which was given him to grind. But 
perhaps some two-legged millers are quite as dishonest as 
this small quadruped. 

As Isaac grew older, it was found tliat he had far more 
important matters in his mind than the uianufacture of 
toys like the little windmill. All day long, if left to 
himself, he was either absorbed in thought or engaged in 
some book of mathematics or natural philosophy. At 
night, I think it probable, he looked up with reverential 
cariosity to the stars, and wondered whether they were 
worlds like our own, and how great was their distance 
from the earth, and what was the power that kept them 
in their courses. Perhaps, even so early in life, Isaac 
Newton felt a presentiment that he should be able, here- 
after, to answer all these questions. 

When Isaac was fourteen years old, his mother's sec- 
ond husband being now dead, she wished her son to leave 
school and assist iier in managing the farm at Wools- 
thorpe. For a year or two, therefore, he tried to turn 
his attention to farininf?. But his mind was so bent on 



BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 239 

becoming a scholar tliat liis mother sent him back to 
school, and afterwards to the University of Cambridge. 

I have now finished my anecdotes of Isaac Newton's 
boyhood. My story would be far too long were I to 
mention all the splendid discoveries which he made after 
he came to be a man. He was the first tliat found out 
the nature of light ; for, before his day, nobody could tell 
what the sunshine was composed of. You remember, I sup- 
pose, the story of an apple's falling on his head, and thus 
leading him to discover the force of gravitation, Miiicli 
keeps the heavenly bodies in their courses. When he 
had once got hold of this idea, he never permitted liis 
mind to rest until he had searched out all the huvs by 
which the planets are guided through the sky. This he 
did as thoroughly as if he had gone up among the stars 
and tracked them in their orbits. The boy had found 
out the mechanism of a windmill ; the man explained to 
his fellow-men the mechanism of the universe. 

While making these researches he was accustomed to 
spend night after night in a lofty tower, gazing at the 
heavenly bodies through a telescope. His mind was 
lifted far above the things of this world. He may l)e 
said, indeed, to have spent the greater i)art of his life in 
worlds that lie thousands and millions of miles away ; for 
where the thoughts and the heart are, there is our true 
existence. 

Did you never hear the story of Newton and his little 
dog Diamond ? One da}^ when he was fifty years old, 
and had been hard at work more than twenty years 
studying the theory of light, he went out of his chamber, 
leaving his Httle dog asleep before the fire. On the 
table lay a heap of manuscript papers, containing all the 
discoveries which Newton had made during those twenty 
years. When his master was gone, up rose little Dia- 



240 BIOGRAPHICAL STOHIES. 

nioiid, jumped upon the table, and overthrew the lighted 
caudle. Tlie papers immediately caught fire. 

Just as tlie destructiou was completed Kewton opened 
th3 chamber door, aud perceived that the labors of 
twenty years were' reduced to a iieap of ashes. Tliere 
stood little Diamond, tiie author of all the mischief. Al- 
nu)st any other man would have sentenced the dog to 
immediate death. But Newton patted him on the head 
with his usual kindness, although grief was at his heart. 

" Diamond, Diamond," exclaimed he, " thou little 
knowest the mischief thou hast done ! " 

This incident affected his health and spirits for some 
time afterwards ; but, from his conduct towards the little 
dog, you may judge what was the sweetness of his temper. 

Newton lived to be a very old man, and acquired great 
renown, and was made a member of Parliament, and re- 
ceived the honor of knighthood from the king. But he 
cared little for earthly fame and honors, and felt no pride 
in the vastness of his knowledge. All that he had learned 
only made him feel how little he knew in comparison to 
what remained to be known, 

"I seem to myself like a child," observed he, "playing 
on the sea-shore, and picking up here and there a curious 
shell or a pretty pebble, while the boundless ocean of 
Truth lies undiscovered before me." 

At last, in 1727, when he was fourscore and five years 
old. Sir Isaa,c Newton died, — or rather, he ceased to 
live on earth. We may be permitted to believe that he 
is still searching out the infinite wisdom and goodness of 
the Creator as earnestly, aud with even more success, 
than while his spirit animated a mortal body. He has 
left a fame behind him which will be as endurable as if 
his name were written in letters of light formed by the 
stars upon the midnight sky. 



BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 241 

"Tlove to liear about meclianical contrivances, sucli 
as tlie water-clock and the little windmill," remarked 
George. " I suppose, if Sir Isaac Newton had only 
thouglit of it, he might have found out the steam-engine, 
and railroads, and all the other famous inventions that 
have come into use since his day." 

"Very possibly he might," replied Mr. Temple; "and 
no doubt a great many people would think it more useful 
to manufacture steam-engines than to search out the sys- 
tem of the universe. Other great astronomers besides 
Newton have been endowed with mechanical genius. 
There was David Rittenhouse, an American, — he made 
a perfect little water-mill when he was only seven or 
eight years old. But this sort of ingenuity is but a mere 
trifle in comparison with the other talents of such men." 

"It must have deen beautiful," said Edward, "to 
spend whole nights in a high tower as Newton did, 
gazing at the stars, and the comets, and the meteors. 
But what would Newton have done had he been blind ? 
or if his eyes had been no better tlian mine ? " 

" Why, even then, my dear child," observed Mrs. 
Temple, " he would have found out some way of enlight- 
ening his mind and of elevating his soul. But come ; 
little Emily is waiting to bid you good night. You must 
go to sleep and dream of seeing all our faces." 

" But how sad it will be when I awake ! " murmured 
Edward. 




CHAPTER IV. 




N the course of tlie next day tlie liarmony of our 
little family was disturbed by something like a 
quarrel between Geoi-ge and Edward. 

The former, though he loved his broHier dearl}^ liad 
found it quite too great a sacrifice of his own enjoyments 
to spend all his play-tiuie in a darkened chamber, Ed- 
ward, on the other haud, was inclined to be despotic. 
He felt as if his bandaged eyes entitled him to demand 
that everybody who enjoyed the blessing of sight should, 
contribute to his comfort and amusement. He therefore 
insisted that George, instead of going out to jHay at foot- 
ball, should join with himself and Emily in a game of 
questions and answers. 

George resolutely refused, and ran out of the house. 
He did not revisit Edward's chamber till the evening, 
when he stole in, looking confused, yet somewhat sullen, 
and sat down beside his father's chair. It was evident, 
by a motion of Edward's head and a slight trembling of 
his lips, that he was aware of George's entrance, though 
liis footsteps had been almost inaudible. Emily, with her 
serious and earnest little face, looked from one to the 
other, as if she longed to be a messenger of peace be- 
tween them, 

Mr. Temple, without seeming to notice any of these 
circumstances, began a story. 



BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 243 

SAMUEL JOHNSON. 

[Born 1709. Died 1784.] 

" Sam," said Mr. Michael Jolinson, of Liclifield, one 
morning, " I am very feeble and ailing to-day. You 
must g-o to Uttoxeter in my stead, and tend the book- 
stall in the market-place there." 

This was spoken above a hundred years ago, by an 
elderly man, who had once been a thriving bookseller 
at Lichfield, in England. , Behig now in reduced circum- 
stances, he was forced to go every market-day and sell 
books at a stall, in the neighboring village of Uttoxeter. 

His son, to whom Mr. Johnson s'»)oke, was a great boy, 
of very singular aspect. He had an intelligent face ; but 
it was seamed and distorted by a scrofulous humor, which 
aifected -his eyes so badly that sometimes he was almost, 
blind. Owing to the same cause his head would often 
shake with a tremulous nu)tion as if he were afflicted 
with the palsy. Wlien Sam was an infant, the famous 
Queen Anne had tried to cure him of this disease by lay- 
ing her royal hands upon his head. But though the 
touch of a king or queen was su])posed to be a certain 
remedy for scrofula, it produced no good elfect upon 
Sam Johnson. 

At the time which we speak of the poor lad was not 
very well dressed, and wore shoes from which his toes 
peeped out ; for his old father had barely the means of 
supporting his wife and children. But, poor as the 
fanuly were, young Sam Johnson had as much pride as 
any nobleman's son in England. The fact was, lie felt 
conscious of uncommon sense and ability, which, in his 
own opinion, entitled him to great respect from the 
world. Perhaps he would have been glad if grown peo- 
ple had treated him as reverentially as his schoolfellows 



244? BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 

did. Three of them were accustomed to come for him 
every morning ; and while lie sat upon the back of one, 
the two others supported him on each side; and thus 
he rode to school in triumph. 

Being a personage of so much importance, Sam could 
not bear the idea of standing all dav in Uttoxeler mar- 
ket offering books to the rude and ignorant country 
people. Doubtless he felt the more reluctant on account 
of his shabby clothes, and the disorder of his eyes, and 
the tremulous motion of his l^ead. 

When Mr. Michael Johnson spoke, Sam pouted and 
made an indistinct grumbling in his throat ; then he 
looked his old father in the face and answered him 
loudly and deliberately. 

" Sir," said he, " I will not go to Uttoxeter market ! " 

Mr. Johnson had seen a great deal of the lad's obsti- 
nacy ever since his birth ; and while Sam was younger, 
the old gentleman had probably used the rod whenever- 
occasion seemed to require. But he was now too feeble 
and too much out of spirits to contend with this stub- 
born and violent-tempered boy. He therefore gave up 
the point at once, and prepared to go to Uttoxeter 
himself. 

""Well, Sam," said Mr. Johnson, as he took his hat 
and staff, " if for the sake of your foolish pride you can 
suffer your poor sick father to stand all day in the noise 
and confusion of the market when he ought to be in his 
bed, I have no more to say. But you will think of this, 
Sam, when I am dead and gone." 

So the poor old man (perhaps with a tear in his eye, 
but certainly with sorrow in his heart) set forth towards 
Uttoxeter. The gray -haired, feeble, melancholy Michael 
Johnson ! How sad a thing it was that he should be 
forced to go, in his sickness, and toil for the support of 



BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 245 

an ungrateful son wlio was too proud to do anything for 
liis fatlier, or liis mother, or himself! Sam looked after 
Mr. Johnson with a sullen countenance till he was out 
of siglit. 

But when the old man's figure, as he went stooping 
along the street, was no more to be seen, the boy's heart 
began to smite him. He liad a vivid imagination, and it 
tormented him with the image of his father standing in 
the market-place of Uttoxeter and offering his books to 
the noisy croAvd around him. Sam seemed to behold 
him arranging his literary merchandise upon the stall 
in such a way as was best calculated to attract notice. 
Here was Addison's Spectator, a long row of little vol- 
umes; here, was Pope's translation of the Iliad and 
Odyssey ; here were Dryden's poems, or those of Prior. 
Here, likewise, were Gulliver's Travels, and a variety of 
little gilt-covered children's books, such as Tom Thumb, 
Jack the Giant Queller, Mother Goose's Melodies, and 
otliers wliich our great -grandparents used to read in 
their childhood. And here were sermons for the pious, 
and pamphlets for the poHticians, and ballads, some merry 
and some dismal ones, for the country people to sing. 

Sam, in imagination, saw his father offer these books, 
pamjihlets, and ballads, now to the rude yeomen who 
perhaps could not read a word ; now to the country 
squires, who cared for nothing but to hunt hares and 
foxes; now to the children, who chose to spend their 
coppers for sugar-plums or gingerbread rather than for 
picture-books. And if Mr. Johnson should sell a book 
to man, woman, or child, it would cost him an hour's talk 
to get a profit of only sixpence. 

" My poor father ! " thought Sam to himself. " How 
his head will aclie ! and liow heavy liis heart will be ! I 
am almost sorry that I did not do as he bade me." 



216 BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 

Then the boy went to his mother, who was busy about 
the liouse. She did not know of what had passed be- 
tween Mr. Johnson and Sam. 

"Mother," said he, "did you think father seemed very 
ill to-day ? " 

" Yes, Sam," answered his mother, turning with a 
flushed face from the fire, where she was cooking their 
scanty dinner. " Your father did look very ill ; and it is a 
pity he did not send you to Uttoxeter in his stead. You 
are a great boy now, and would rejoice, 1 am sure, to do 
something for your poor father, who has done so much 
for you." 

Tiie lad made no reply. But again his imagination set 
to work and conjured up another picture of poor Michael 
Johnson. He was standing in the hot sunshine of the 
market-place, and looking so weary, sick, and disconso- 
late, that the eyes of all the crowd were drawn to him. 
" Had this old man no son," the people would say among 
themselves, " who might have taken his place at the book- 
stall while the father kept his bed r* " And perhaps, — • 
but this was a terrible thought for Sam! — perhaps his 
father would faint away and fall down in the market- 
place, with his gray hair in the dust and liis venerable 
face as deathlike as that of a corpse. And there would 
be the bystanders gazing earnestly at Mr. Johnson and 
whispering, " Is he dead ? Is he dead ? " 

And Sam shuddered as he repeated to himself, "Is he 
dead?" 

" 0, I have been a cruel son ! " thought he, within his 
own heart. " God forgive me ! God forgive me ! " 

But God could not yet forgive him ; for he was not 
truly penitent. Had he been so, he would have hastened 
away tliat very moment to Uttoxeter, and have fallen at 
his father's feet, even in the midst of the crowded mar» 



BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 247 

ket-place. There he would have confessed his fault, and 
besought Mr. Johnson to go home a^id leave the rest of 
the day's work to him. But such was Sam's pride and 
natural stubbornness that he could not bring himself to 
this humiliation. Yet he ought to have done so, for his 
own sake, for his father's sake, and for God's sake. 

After sunset old Michael Johnson came slowly home 
and sat down in his customary chair. He said nothing 
to Sam ; nor do I know that a single word ever passed 
between them on the subject of the son's disobedience. 
In a few years his father died, and left Sam to fight his 
way through the world by himself. It would make our 
story much too long were I to tell you even a few of the 
remarkable events of Sam's life. Moreover, there is the 
less need of this, because many books have been written 
about that poor boy, and the fame that he acquired, and all 
that he did or talked of doing after he came to be a man. 

But one thing I must not neglect to say. From 
his boyhood upward until the latest day of his life he 
never forgot the story of Uttoxeter market. Often 
■when he was a scholar of the University of Oxford, or 
master of an academy at Edial, or a writer for the Lon- 
don booksellers, — in all his poverty and toil and in all 
his success, — while he was walking the streets without 
a shilling to buy food, or when the greatest men of Eng- 
land were proud to feast him at their table, — still that 
heavy and remorseful thought came back to him, "I was 
cruel to my poor father in his illness ! " Many and many 
'a time, awake or in his dreams, he seemed to see old 
Michael Johnson standing in the dust and confusion of 
the market-place and pressing his withered hand to his 
forehead as if it ached. 

Alas ! my dear children, it is a sad thing to have such 
a thought as this to bear us company through life. 



24-8 



BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 



Thougli the story was but luilf fmislied, yet, as it was 
longer than usual, Mr. Temple here uiade a short pause. 
He perceived that Emily was in tears, and Edward 
turned his half-veiled lace towards the speaker with an 
air of great earnestness and interest. As for George, he 
had withdrawn into the dusky shadow behind his father's 
chair. 




CHAPTER V. 




N a few moments Mr. Temple resumed the sto- 
ry, as follows : — 

SAMUEL JOHNSON. 

[Continued.] 

Well, my cliildrcn, fifty years had passed away since 
young Sam Johnson had shown himself so hard-hearted 
towards his father. It was now market-day in the village 
of Uttoxeter. 

In the street of the village you might see cattle-dealers 
with cows and oxen for sale, and pig-drovers with herds 
of squeaking swine, and farmers with cartloads of cab- 
bages, turnips, onions, and all other produce of the soil. 
Now and then a farmer's red-faced wife trotted along on 
horseback, with butter and cheese in two large panniers. 
The people of the village, with country squires, and other 
visitors from the neighborhood, walked hither and thither, 
trading, jesting, quarrelling, and making just such a bus- 
tle as their fathers and grandfathers had made half a 
century before. 

In one part of the street there was a puppet-show, 
with a ridiculous merry-andrew, who kept both grown 
people and children in a roar of laughter. On the op- 
11* 



250 BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 

posite side was the old stone churcli of Uttoxeter, with 
ivy climbiug up its walls aud parlly obscuiiug its Goth.c 
windows. 

There was a clock in the gray tower of the ancient 
church, and the hands on the dial-plate had now almost 
reached the hour of noon. At this busiest hour of the 
market a strange old gentleman was seen making his way 
among the crowd. He was very tall and bulky, and 
wore a brown coat and small-clothes, with black worsted 
stockings and buckled shoes. On his head was a three- 
cornered hat, beneath which a bushy gray wig thrust 
itself out, all in disorder. The old gentleman elbowed 
the people aside, and forced his way through the midst of 
them with a singular kind of gait, rolling his body hither 
and thither, so that he needed twice as much room as any 
other person there. 

" Make way, sir ! " he would cry out, in a loud, harsh 
voice, when somebody happened to interrupt his prog- 
ress. " Sir, you intrude your person into the public 
thoroughfare ! " 

" What a queer old fellow this is ! " muttered the peo- 
ple among themselves, hardly knowing whether to laugh 
or to be angry. 

But when they looked into the venerable stranger's 
face, not the most thoughtless among them dared to offer 
him the least impertinence. Though his features were 
scarred and distorted with the scrofula, and though his 
eyes were dim and bleared, yet there was something of 
authority aud wisdom in his look, which impressed them 
all with awe. So they stood aside to let him pass ; and 
the old gentleman made his way across the market-place, 
and paused near the corner of the ivy-mantled church. 
Just as he reached it the clock struck twelve. 

Oa the very spot of ground where the stranger now 



BIOGUAPHICAL STORIES. 251 

stood some aged people remembered that old Michael 
Johnson had formerly kept his book-stall. The little 
children who had once bought picture-books of him were 
grandfathers now, 

" Yes ; here is the very spot ! " muttered the old gen- 
tleman to himself. 

There this unknown personage took his stand and re- 
moved the three-cornered hat from his head. It was the 
busiest hour of the day. What with the hum of human 
voices, the .lowing of cattle, the squeaking of pigs, and 
the laughter caused by the merry-andrew, the market- 
place was in very great confusion. But the stranger 
seemed not to notice it any more than if the silence of 
a desert were around him. He was rapt in his own 
thoughts. Sometimes he raised his furrowed brow to 
heaven, as if in prayer; sometimes he bent his head, as 
if an insupportable weight of sorrow were upon him. It 
increased the awfulness of his aspect that there was a 
motion of his head and an almost continual tremor 
throughout his frame, with singular twitchings and con- 
tortions of his features. 

The hot sun blazed upon his unprotected head ; but he 
seemed not to feel its fervor. A dark cloud swept across 
the sky and rain-drops pattered into the market-place ; 
but the stranger heeded not the shower. The people be- 
gan to gaze at the mysterious old gentleman with super- 
stitious fear and wonder. Who could he be ? Whence 
did he come ? Wherefore was he standing bareheaded in 
the market-place ? Even the school-boys left the merry- 
andrew and came to gaze, with wide-open eyes, at th.s 
tall, strange-looking old man. 

There was a cattle-drover in the village who had 
recently made a journey to the Smithfield market, in Lon- 
don. No sooner had this man thrust his way through 



252 BIOGHAPHICAL STORIES. 

the throng and taken a look at tlie iinkno-u-n personage, 
than he whispered to one of his acqnaintances, — 

"I say, Neiglibor Hntcliins, would ye like to know 
who this old gentleman is ? " 

" Ay, that I would," replied Neighbor Hutchins, " for 
a queerer chap I never saw in my life. Somehow it 
makes me feel small to look at him. He 's more than 
a common man." 

" You may well say so," answered the cattle-drover. 
" Why, that 's the famous Doctor Samuel Johnson, who 
they say is the greatest and learnedest man in England. 
I saw him in London streets, walking with one Mr. Bos- 
well." 

Yes ; the poor hoy, the friendless Sam, with whom we 
began our story, had become the famous Doctor Samuel 
Johnson. He was universally acknowledged as the 
wisest man and greatest writer in all England. He had 
given sliape and permanence to his native language by 
his Dictionary. Thousands upon thousands of people 
had read his Idler, his Rambler, and his Rasselas. No- 
ble and wealthy men and beautiful ladies deemed it their 
highest privilege to be his companions. Even the King 
of Great Britain had sought his acquaintance, and told 
liim what an honor he considered it that such a man had 
been born in his dominions. He was now at the summit 
of literary renown. 

But all liis fame could not extinguish the bitter remem- 
brance which had tormented him through life. Never, 
never had lie forgotten his father's sorrowful and upbraid- 
ing look. Never, though the old man's troubles had been 
over so many years, had he forgiven himself for inflicting 
such a pang upon his heart. And now, in his old age, 
he had come hitlier to do penance, by standing at noon- 
day, in the market-place of Uttoxeter, on the very spot 



BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 253 

■where Michael Johnson had once kept liis book-stall. 
The aged and illustrious man had done what the poor 
boy refused to do. By thus expressing his deep repent- 
ance and humiliation of heart, he hoped to gain peace of 
conscience and the forgiveness of God. 

My dear children, if you have grieved (I will not say 
yonr parents, but if you have grieved) the heart of any 
human being who has a claim upon your love, then think 
of Samuel Johnson's penance. "Will it not be better to 
redeem the error now than to endure the agony of re- 
morse for fifty years ? Would you not rather say to a 
brother, " I have erred ; forgive me ! " than perhaps to 
go hereafter and shed bitter tears upon his grave? 

Hardly was the story concluded when George hastily 
arose, and Edward likewise, stretching forth his hands 
into the darkness that surrounded him to find his brother. 
Both accused themselves of unkindness : each besought 
the other's forgiveness ; and having done so, the trouble 
of their hearts vanished away like a dream. 

" I am glad ! I am so glad ! " said Emily, in a low, ear- 
nest voice. " Now I shall sleep quietly to-night." 

"My sweet child," thought Mrs. Temple as she kissed 
her, "mayest thou never know how much strife there is 
on earth ! It would cost thee many a night's rest." 





CHAPTER VI. 

BOUT this period Mr. Temple founrl it neces- 
sary to take a journey, "whicii interrupted the 
series of Biographical Stories for several eveu- 
iuirs. in the interval, Edward practised various methods 
of employing and amusing his mind. 

Sometimes he meditated upon beautiful objects whicli 
he had formerly seen, until the intensity of his recollec- 
tion seemed to restore him the gift of sight and place 
everything anew before his eyes. Sometimes he repeated 
verses of poetry whicli he did not know to be in his 
memory until he found them there just at the time of 
need. Sometimes he attempted to solve arithmetical 
questions which had perplexed him while at school. 

Then, with his mother's assistance, he learned the let- 
ters of the string alphabet, which is used in some of the 
institutions for the bUnd in Europe. When one of his 
friends gave him a leaf of St. Mark's Gospel, printed in 
embossed characters, he endeavored to read it by passing 
his fingers over the letters as blind children do. 

His brother George was now very kind, and spent so 
much time in the darkened chamber that Edward often 
insisted upon his going out to play. George told 
him all about the ali'airs at school, and related many 
amusing incidents that happened among his comrades, 



BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 255 

and informed liim what sports were now in fashion, and 
whose kite soared the highest, and whose little ship 
sailed fleetest on the Frog Pond. As for Emily, she re- 
peated stoi'ies which she had learned from a new book 
called The Flower People, in which the snowdrops, 
the violets, the columbines, the roses, and all that lovely 
tribe are represented as telling their secrets to a little 
girl. The flowers talked sweetly, as flowers should ; and 
Edward almost fancied that he could behold their bloom 
and smell their fragrant breath. 

Thus, in one way or another, the dark days of Ed- 
ward's confinement passed not unhappily. In due time 
his father returned ; and the next evening, when the 
family Avere assembled, he began a story. 

" 1 must first observe, children," said lie, " that some 
writers deny the truth of the incident which I am about 
to relate to you. There certainly is but little evidence in 
favor of it. Other respectable writers, however, tell it 
for a fact; and, at all events, it is an interesting stor}'^, 
and has an excellent moral." 

So Mr. Temple proceeded to talk about the early 
days of 

OLIVER CROMWELL. 

[Born 1599. Died 1658.] 

Not long after King James I. took the place of Queen 
Elizabeth on the throne of England, there lived an Eng- 
lish knight at a place called liinchiubrooke. His name 
was Sir Oliver Cromwell. He spent his life, I suppose, 
pretty much like other English knights and squires in 
those days, hunting hares and foxes and drinking large 
quantities of ale and wine. The old house in which he 
dwelt had been occupied by his ancestors before him for 



256 BIOGRAPHICAL stohies. 

a j^ood many years. In it there was a great liall, hung 
round with coats of arms and hehnets, cuirasses and 
swords, which his forefathers had used in battle, and 
with horns of deer and tails of foxes which they or Sir 
Oliver himself had killed in the chase. 

This Sir Oliver Cromwell had a nephew, who had been 
called Oliver, after himself, but who was generally known 
in the family by the name of little Noll. His father was 
a younger brother of Sir Oliver. The child was often 
sent to visit his uncle, who probably found him a trouble- 
some little fellow to take care of. He was forever in 
mischief, and always running into some danger or other, 
from wiiich he seemed to escape only by miracle. 

Even while he was an infimt in the cradle a strange 
accident had befallen him. A huge ape, which was kept 
in the family, snatched up little Noll in his fore paws and 
clambered with him to the roof of the house. There this 
ugly beast sat grinning at the affrighted spectators, as if 
it had done the most praiseworthy thing imaginable. 
Tortunately, however, he brought the child safe down 
again ; and the event was afterwards considered an omen 
that Noll would reach a very elevated station in the 
world. 

One morning, when Noll was five or six years old a 
royal messenger arrived at Hinchinbrooke with tidings 
that King James was coming to dine with Sir Oliver 
Cromwell. This was a high honor, to be sure, but a very 
great trouble ; for all the lords and ladies, knights, 
squires, guards and yeomen, who waited on the king, 
were to be feasted as well as himself; and more provis- 
ions would be eaten and more wine drunk in that one 
day than generally in a month. However, Sir Oliver 
expressed much thankfulness for the king's intended 
visit, and ordered his butler and cook to make the best 



BIOGEAPHICAL STORIES. 257 

preparations in tlieir power. So a great fire was kindled 
in the kitchen; and the neighbors knew by the smoke 
which poured out of tlie chimney that boiling, baking, 
stewing, roasting, and frying were going on merrily. 

By and by the sound of trumpets was heard approach- 
ing nearer and nearer ; a heavy, old-fashioned coach, sur- 
rounded by guards on horseback, drove up to the house. 
Sir Oliver, with his hat in his hand, stood at the gate to 
receive the king. His Majesty was dressed in a suit of 
green not very new : he had a feather in his hat and a 
triple ruff round his neck, and over his shoulder was 
slnng a huntiiig-liorn instead of a sword. Altogether he 
had not the most dignified aspect in the world ; but the 
spectators gazed at him as if there was something super- 
linman and divine in his person. They even shaded 
their eyes with their hands, as if they were dazzled by 
the glory of his countenance. 

" How are ye, man ? " cried King James, speaking in 
a Scotch accent; for Scotland was his native country. 
"By my crown, Sir Oliver, but I am glad to see ye ! " 

The good knight thanked the king ; at the same time 
kneeling down while his Majesty alighted. When King 
James stood on the ground, he directed Sir Oliver's at- 
tention to a little boy who had come with him in the 
coach. He was six or seven years old, and wore a hat 
and feather, and was more richly dressed than the king 
liimself. Though by no means an ill-looking child, he 
seemed shy, or even sulky ; and his cheeks were rather 
pale, as if he had been kept moping within doors, instead 
of being sent out to play in the sun and wind. 

" I have brought my son Charlie to see ye," said the 
king. " I hope. Sir Oliver, ye have a son of your own 
to be his playmate." 

Sir Oliver Cromwell made a reverential bow to the 



258 BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 

little prince, whom one of the attendants had now taken 
out of the coach. It was wonderful to see liow all the 
spectators, even the SLged men with their gray beards, 
humbled themselves before this child. They bent their 
])()dies till their beards almost swept the dust. They 
looked as if they were ready to kneel down and wor- 
ship him. 

Tlie poor little prince ! Erom his earliest infancy not 
a soul had dared to contradict him ; everybody around 
him had acted as if he were a superior being ; so that, 
of course, he had imbibed the same opinion of himself. 
He naturally supposed that the whole kingdom of Great 
Britain and all its inhabitants had been created solely for 
his benefit and amusement. Tliis was a sad mistake ; 
and it cost him dear enough after he had ascended his 
father's throne. 

" What a noble little prince he is ! " exclaimed Sir 
Oliver, lifting his hands in admiration. " No, please 
your Majesty, I have no son to be the playmate of his 
royal highness ; but there is a nephew of mine some- 
where about the house. He is near the prince's age, and 
will be but too happy to wait upon his royal highness." 

" Scud for him, man ! send for him ! " said the king. 

But, as it happened, there was no need of sending for 
Master Noll. While King James Avas speaking, a rug- 
ged, bold-faced, sturdy little urchin thrust himself through 
tlie throng of courtiers and attendants and greeted the 
prince with a broad stare. His doublet and hose (which 
liad been put on new and clean in honor of the king's 
visit) were already soiled and torn with the rough play in 
which he had spent tiie morning. He looked no more 
abashed than if King James were his uncle and the prhice 
one of his customary playfellows. 

This was little Noll himself. 



BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 259 

"Here, please vour Majesty, is my nephew," said Sir 
Oliver, somewhat ashamed of Noll's appearance and de- 
meanor. " Oliver, make your obeisance to the king's 
majesty." 

The boy made a pretty respectful obeisance to the 
knig; for in those days children were taught to pay rev- 
erence to their elders. King James, who prided himself 
greatly on his scholarship, asked Noll a few questions in 
the Latin .grammar, and then introduced him to his son. 
The little prince, in a very grave and dignified manner, 
extended his hand, not for Noll to shake, but that he 
might kneel down and kiss it. 

" Nephew," said Sir Oliver, " pay your duty to the 
prince." 

" I owe him no duty," cried Noll, thrusting aside the 
prince's hand with a rude laugh. " Why should I kiss 
that boy's hand?" 

All the courtiers were amazed and confounded, and Sir 
Oliver the most of all. But the king laughed heartily, 
saying, that little Noll had a stubborn English spirit, and 
that it was well for his son to learn betimes what sort of 
a people he was to rule over. 

So King James and his train entered the house; and 
the prince, with Noll and some other children, was sent 
to play in a separate room while his ]\[ajesty M-as at din- 
ner. The young people soon became acquainted ; for 
boys, whether the sons of monarchs or of peasants, all 
like play, and are pleased with one another's society. 
What games they diverted themselves with I cannot tell. 
Perhaps they played at ball, perhaps at blind-man's-buff, 
perhaps at leap-frog, perhaps at prison-bars. Such games 
have been in use for hundreds of years; and princes as 
well as poor children have spent some of their happiest 
hours in playing at 1 hem. 



260 BIOGIIAPIIICAL STOr.IES. 

MeanwliHe King James and his nobles were feasting 
•vritli Sir Oliver in the great hall. The king sat in a 
gilded chair, under a canopy, at the iiead of a long table. 
Whenever any of the company addressed hiin, it was witli 
the deepest reverence. If the attendants offered him 
■wine or the various delicacies of the festival, it was upon 
their bended knees. You would have thought, by these 
tokens of worship, that the monarch was a supernatural 
being; only he seemed to have quite as much need of 
those vulgar matters, food and drink, as any other person 
at the table. But fate had ordained that good King 
James should not finish his dinner in peace. 

All of a sudden there arose a terrible uproar in the 
room where the children were at play. Angry shouts 
and shrill cries of alarm were mixed up together ; while 
the voices of elder persons were likewise heard, trying to 
restore order among the children. The king and every- 
body else at table looked aghast ; for perhaps the tumult 
made them think that a general rebellion had broken 
out. 

"Mercy on us ! " muttered Sir Oliver; " that grace- 
less nephew of mine is in some mischief or other. The 
naughty little whelp ! " 

Getting up from table, he ran to see what was the 
matter, followed by many of the guests, and the king 
among them. They all crowded to the door of the play- 
room. 

On looking in, they beheld the little Prince Charles, 
with his rich dross all torn and covered with the dust of 
the floor. His royal blood was streaming from his nose 
in great abundance. He gazed at Noll Avith a mixture 
of rage and affright, and at the same time a puzzled ex- 
pression, as if he 'could not understand how any mortal 
boy should dare to give him a beating. As for Noll, 



BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 261 

tliere stood Lis sturdy little figure, bold as a lion, looking 
as if he were ready to fight, not only the prince, but the 
king and kingdom too. 

"You little villain!" cried his nncle. "What have 
you been about ? Down ou your knees, this instant, 
and ask the prince's pardon. How dare you lay your 
hands on the king's majesty's royal son ? " 

"He struck me first," grumbled the valiant little 
Noll; "and I 've only given him his due." 

Sir Oliver and the guests lifted up their hands in as- 
tonishment and horror. No punishment seemed severe 
enough for this wicked little varlet, who had dared to 
resent a blow from the king's own son. Some of the 
courtiers were of opinion that Noll should be sent pris- 
oner to the Tower of London and brought to trial for 
high treason. Others, in their great zeal for the king's 
service, were about to lay hands ou the boy and chastise 
him in the royal presence. 

But King James, who sometimes showed a good deal 
of sagacity, ordered them to desist. 

"Thou art a bold boy," said he, looking fixedly at 
little Noll ; " and, if thou liv^e to be a man, my son 
Charlie would do wisely to be friends with thee." 

" I never will ! " cried the little prince, stamping his 
foot. 

"Peace, Cliarlie, peace!" said the king; then ad- 
dressing Sir Oliver and the attendants, "Harm not the 
urchin ; for he has taught my son a good lesson, if 
Heaven do but give him grace to profit by it. Here- 
after, should he be tempted to tyrannize over the stub- 
born race of Englishmen, let him remember little Noll 
Cromwell and his own bloody nose." 

So the king finished his dinner and departed ; and for 
many a long year the childish quarrel between Pnnce 



262 BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 

Charles and Noll Cromwell was forgotten. The prince, 
indeed, might have lived a happier life, and have met a 
more p3acet'ul death, had he remembered that quarrel 
and the moral which his father drew from it. But wiien 
old King James was dead, and Charles sat upon his 
throne, he seemed to forget that he was but a man, and 
that his meanest subjects were men as well as he. He 
M'ishcd to have the property and lives of the people of 
England entirely at his own disposal. But the Puritans, 
and all who loved liberty, rose against him and beat him 
in many battles, and i)ulled him down from his throne. 

Througliout this war between the king and nobles ou 
one side and the people of England on the other there 
was a famous leader, who did more towards ths ruin of 
royal authority than all the rest. The contest seemed 
like a wrestling-match between King Charles aud this 
strong man. And the king was overthrown. 

When the discrowned monarch was brought to trial, 
that warlike leader sat in the judgment hall. Many 
judges were present besides himself; but he alone had 
the power to save King Charles or to doom him to the 
scaffold. After sentence was pronounced, this victorious 
general was entreated by his own children, on their knees, 
to rescue his Majesty from death. 

" No ! " said he, sternly. " Better that one man 
should perish than that the Avliole country should be 
ruined for his sake. It is resolved that he shall die ! " 

When Charles, no longer a king, was led to the scaf- 
fold, his great enemy stood at a window of the royal palace 
of Whitehall. He beheld the poor victim of pride, and 
an evil education, and misused power, as he laid his head 
upon the block. He looked on with a steadfast gaze 
while a black-veiled executioner lifted the fatal axe aud* 
smote off that anointed head at a sin:>le blow. 



BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 263 

" It is a righteous deed," perhaps he said to himself. 
" Now EngUshmeu may enjoy their rights." 

At night, when the body of Charles was hud in the 
coiRn, in a gloomy chamber, the general entered, lighting 
himself with a torch. Its gleam showed that he was now 
growing old ; his visage was scarred with the many bat- 
tles in which he had led the van ; his brow was wrinkled 
with care and with the continual exercise of stern author- 
ity. Probably there was not a single trait, either of 
aspect or manner, that belonged to the little Noll who 
had battled so stoutly with Prince Charles. Yet this 
was he ! 

He lifted the coffin-lid, and caused the light of his 
torch to fall upon the dead monarch's face. Then, prob- 
ably, his mind went back over all the marvellous events 
that had brought the hereditary King of England to this 
dishonored coffin, and had raised himself, a humble in- 
dividual, to the possession of kingly power. He was a 
king, though without the empty title or the glittering 
crown, 

"Why was it," said Cromwell to himself, or might 
have said, as he gazed at the pale features in the coffin, 
— " why was it that this great king fell, and that poor 
Noll Cromwell has gained all the power of the realm ? " 

And, indeed, why was it ? 

King Charles had fallen, because, in his manhood the 
same as when a child, he disdained to feel that every 
human creature was his brother. He deemed himself 
a superior being, and fancied that his subjects were cre- 
ated only for a king to rule over. And Cromwell rose, 
because, in spite of his many faults, he mainly fought 
for the rights and freedom of his fellow-men ; and there- 
fore the poor and the oppressed all lent their strength 
to him. 



26 i BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 

" Dear father, how I should hate to be a king ! " ex- 
claimed Edward. 

" And would you like to be a Cromwell? " inquired his 
father. 

" I should like it well," replied George ; " only I 
would not have put the poor old king to death. I would 
have sent him out of the kingdom, or perhaps have al- 
lowed him to live in a small house near the gate of the 
royal palace. It was too severe to cut off his liead." 

" Kings are in such an unfortunate position," said Mr. 
Temple, " tliat tliey must either be almost deified by their 
subjects, or else be dethroned aud beheaded. In either 
case it is a pitiable lot." 

" O, I had rather be blind than be a king ! " said 
Edward. 

" Well, my dear Edward," observed his mother, with a 
smile, " I am glad you are convinced that your own lot is 
not the hardest in the world." 




CHAPTER YII, 




T was a pleasant siglit, for tliose who had eyes, 
to see how patiently the blhided little boy now 
submitted to what lie had at first deemed an 
intolerable calamity. The beneficent Creator has not 
allowed our comfort to depend on the enjoyment of any 
single sense. Tliough he has made the world so very 
beautiful, yet it is possible to be happy without ever be- 
holding the blue sky, or the green and flowery earth, or 
the kind faces of those Mdiom we love. Thus it appears 
tliat all the external beauty of the universe is a free gift 
from God over and above what is necessary to our com- 
fort. How grateful, then, should we be to that divine 
Benevolence, which showers even superfluous bounties 
upon us ! 

One truth, therefore, which Edward's blindness had 
taught him was, that his mind and soul could dispense 
with the assistance of his eyes. Doubtless, however, he 
would have found this lesson far more difiicult to learn 
liad it not been for the affection of those around him. 
His parents, and George and Emily, aided him to bear 
his misfortune; if possible, they would have lent him 
their own eyes. And this, too, was a good lesson for 
him. It taught him how dependent on one another God 
has ordained us to be, insomuch that all the necessities of 
mankind slionld incite them to mutual love. 
12 



266 BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 

So Edward loved his friends, and perhaps all the 
world, better than he ever did before. And he felt grate- 
ful towards his father for spending the evenings in telling 
him stories, — more grateful, probably, than any of my 
little readers will feel towards me for so carefully writing 
these same stories down. 

" Come, dear father," said he, the next evening, " now 
tell us about some other little boy who was destined to 
be a famous man." 

" How would 3'ou like a story of a Boston boy ? " 
asked his father. 

" 0, pray let us have it ! " cried George, eagerly. "It 
will be all the better if he has been to our schools, and 
has coasted on the Common, and sailed boats in the Frog 
Pond. I shall feel acquainted with him then." 

"Well, then," said Mr. Temple, "I will introduce you 
to a Boston boy whom all the world became acquainted 
with after he grcM^ to be a man." 

The story was as follows : — 

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 

[BORX 1706. Died 1790.] 

In the year 1716, or about that period, a boy us?d to 
be seen in the streets of Boston who was known among 
his schoolfellows and playmates by the name of Ben 
Frankhn. Ben was born in 1706; so that he was now 
about ten years old. His father, who had come over 
from England, was a soap-boiler and tallowy-chandler, 
and resided in Milk Street, not far from the Old South 
Church. 

Ben was a bright boy at his book, and even a brighter 
one when at play with his comrades. He had some 
remarkable qualities wMiich always seemed to give him 



BIOGKAPHICAL STOIIIES. 267 

the lead, wlietlier at sport or in more serious matters. 
I might tell you a number of amusing anecdotes about 
him. You are acquainted, I suppose, with his famous 
story of the Whistle, and how he bought it with a 
M'hole pocketful of coppers and afterwards repented of 
jiis bargain. But Ben had grown a great boy since 
those days, and liad gained wisdom by experience ; for 
it was one of his peculiarities, that no incident ever haj)- 
pened to him without teaching hi n some valuable lesson. 
Thus he generally profited more by his misfortunes than 
many people do by the niost favorable events that could 
befall them. 

Ben's face was already pretty well known to the in- 
habitants of Boston. The selectmen and other pco])]e of 
note often used to visit his father, for the sake of talking 
about the affairs of the town or province. Mr. rraiikliu 
was considered a person of great wisdom and integrity, 
and was respected by all who knew him, although he 
suj)ported his family by the humble trade of boiluig soap 
and making tallow candles. 

"While his father and the visitors were holding deep 
consultations about public affairs, little Ben would sit on 
his stool in a corner, listening with the greatest interest, 
as if he understood every* word. Indeed, his features 
were so full of intelligence that there could be but little 
doubt, not only that he understood what was said, but 
that he could have expressed some very sagacious opin- 
ions out of his own mind. But in those days boys were 
expected to be silent in the presence of their elders. 
However, Ben Franklin was looked upon as a very prom- 
ising lad, who would talk and act wisely by and by. 

" Neighbor Franklin," his father's friends would some- 
times say, " you ought to send this boy to college and 
make a minister of him." 



268 BIOGUAPIIICAL STOEIES. 

" I have often thouglit of it," liis father would reply; 
"and my brother Benjamin promises to give him a great 
many volumes of manuscript sermons, in case he should 
be educated for the church. But I have a large family 
to support, and cannot afford the expense." 

In fact, Mr. Franklin found it so diflBcult to provide 
bread for his family, that, when the boy was ten years 
old, it became necessary to take him from school. Ben 
was then employed in cutting candle-wicks into equal 
lengths and filling the moulds with tallow; and many 
families in Boston spent their evenings by the light of 
the candles which he had helped to make. Thus, you 
see, in his early days, as well as in his manhood, his 
labors contributed to throw light upon dark matters. 

Busy as his life now was, Ben still found time to keep 
company with his former schoolfellows. He and the 
other boys were very fond of fishing, and spent many of 
their leisure houi*s on the margin of the mill-pond, catch- 
ing flounders, perch, eels, and tomcod, which came up 
thither with the tide. The place where they fished is 
now, probably, covered with stone pavements and brick 
buildnigs, and thronged with people and with vehicles 
of all Icinds. But at that period it was a marshy spot on 
the outskirts of the town, where gulls flitted and screamed 
overhead and salt-meadow grass grew under foot. 

On the edge of the water there was a deep bed of clay, 
in which the boys were forced to stand while they cauglit 
their fish. Here they dabbled in mud and mire like a 
flock of ducks. 

" This is very uncomfortable," said Ben Franklin one 
day to his comrades, while they were standing mid-leg 
deep in the quagmire. 

"So it is," said the other boys. "T\'hat a pity we 
have no better place to stand ! " 



BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 269 

If it had not been for Ben, notliing" more 'would have 
been done or said about the matter. But it was not in 
his nature to be sensible of an inconvenience without 
using his best efforts to find a remedy. So, as he and 
liis comrades were returning from the water-side, Ben 
suddenly threw down his string of fish with a very deter- 
mined air. 

" Boys," cried he, " I have thought of a scheme which 
will be greatly for our benefit and for the public benefit." 

It was queer enough, to be sure, to hear this lit- 
tle chap — this rosy-cheeked, ten-year-old boy — talking 
about schemes for the public benefit ! Nevei-theless, his 
companions were ready to listen, being assured that Ben's 
scheme, whatever it was, would be well Avorth their at- 
tention. They remembered how sagaciously he had con- 
ducted all their enterprises ever since he had been old 
enough to wear small-clothes. 

They remembered, too, his wonderful contrivance of 
sailing across the mill-pond by lying flat on his back in 
the water and alloAving himself to be drawn along by a 
paper kite. If Ben could do that, he might certainly do 
anything. 

" What is your scheme, Ben ? — what is it ? " cried 
they all. 

It so happened that they had now come to a spot of 
ground where a new house Avas to be built. Scattered 
round about lay a great many large stones Avhicli Avere to 
be used for the cellar and foundation. Ben mounted 
upon the highest of these stones, so that he might speak 
with the more authority. 

" You knoAA% lads," said he, " what a plague it is to be 
forced to stand in the quagmire yonder, — over shoes and 
stockings (if Ave w^ar any) in mud and Avater. See ! I 
am bedaubed to the knees of my small-clothes ; and you 



270 BIOGllAPIIICAL STOraES. 

are all in the same pickle. Unless we can find some 
renied\^ for this evil, our fishing business must be entirely 
given up. And, surely, this would be a terrible mistor- 
tuue ! " 

" That it would ! that it would ! " said his comrades, 
sorrowfully. 

" Now, I propose," continued Master Benjamin, " that 
we build a wharf, for the purpose cf carrying on our 
fisiieries. You see these stones. The workmen mean to 
use them for the underpinning of a house ; but that 
would be for only one man's advantage. My plan is to 
take these same stones and carry them to the edge of the 
water and build a wharf with them. This will not only 
enable us to carry on the fishing business Avith comfort 
and to better advantage, but it will likewise be a great 
convenience to boats passing up and down the streaui. 
Thus, instead of one man, fifty, or a hundred, or a thou- 
sand, besides ourselves, may be benefited by these stones. 
What say you, lads ? shall we build the wharf?" 

Ben's proposal was received with one of those uproari- 
ous shouts wherewith boys usually express their delight 
at whatever completely suits their views. Nobody thought 
of questioning the right and justice of building a wharf 
with stones that belonged to another person. 

" Hurrah ! hurrah ! " shouted they. " Let 's set about 
it." 

It was agreed that they should all be on the spot that 
evening and commence their grand public enterprise 
by moonlight. Accordingly, at the appointed time, the 
whole gang of youthful laborers assembled, and eagerly 
began to remove the stones. They had not calculated how 
much toil would be requisite in this important part of their 
undertaking. The very first stone which they hiid hold of 
proved so heavy that it almost seemed to be fastened to 



BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 271 

tlie ground. Notliing but Ben Franklin's clieerful and 
resolute spirit could have induced them to pei-sevcre. 

Ben, as might be expected, was the soul of the en- 
terprise. By his mechanical genius, he contrived meth- 
ods to lighten the labor of transporting the stones, so 
that one boy, under his directions, would perform as imich 
as half a dozen if left to themselves. Whenever Ihcir 
spirits flagged he had some joke ready, which seemed to 
renew their strength, by setting them all into a roar of 
laughter. And when, after an hour or two of hard work, 
the stones were transported to the water-side, Ben Frauk- 
lin was the engineer to superintend the construction of 
the wharf. 

The boys, hke a colony of ants, performed a great 
deal of labor by their multitude, though the individual 
strength of each could have accomplished but little. 
Finally, just as the moon sank below the horizon, the 
great Avork was finished. 

"Now, boys," cried Ben, "let's give three cheers and 
go home to bed. To-morrow we may catch fish at our 
ease." 

" Hurrah ! hurrah ! hurrah ! " shouted his comrades. 

Then they all went home in such an ecstasy of delight 
that they could hardly get a wink of sleep. 

The story was not yet fiuishcd; but George's impa- 
tience caused him to interrupt it. 

" How I wish that I could have helped to build that 
wharf ! " exclaimed he. " It must have been glorious 
fun. Ben Franklin forever, say I." 

" It was a very pretty piece of work," said Mr. Tem- 
ple. " But wait till you Itear the end of the story." 

"Father," inquired Edward, "whereabouts in Boston 
was the mill-pond on which Ben built his wharf? " 

"I do not exactly know," answered Mr. Temple; 



27 



BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 



"but I suppose it to liave been on the noriliern verge 
of the town, in the vicinity of what are now called Mer- 
rimack and Charlestown Streets. That thronged por- 
tion of the city was once a marsh. Some of it, iu fact, 
was covered with water." 




CHAPTEE VIII. 




lin's wharf. 



S the cliilclreu had no more questions to ask, 
Mr. Temple proceeded to relate wliat conse- 
quences ensued from the building of Ben Trank- 



BENJAMIN FRANKLIN. 



[Continued. I 



In the morning, when the early sunbeams were gleam- 
ing on the steeples and roofs of the town and gilding the 
water that surrounded it, the masons came, rubbing their 
eyes, to begin their work at the foundation of the new 
liouse. But, on reaching the spot, they rubbed their 
eyes so much the harder. What had become of their 
heap of stones ? 

" Why, Sam," said one to another, in great perplexity, 
"here's been some w^itchcraft at work while we were 
asleep. The stones must have flown away through the 
air ! " 

"More likely they have been stolen ! " answered Sam. 

" But who on earth would think of stealing a heap of 
stones ? " cried a third. " Could a man carry them away 
in his pocket ? " 

The master mason, who was a gruff kind of man, stood 
scratching his hend. nnd said nothing at first. But, look- 
12* K 



274 BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 

ing carefully on the ground, lie discerned innumerable 
tracks of little ket, sonis witii shoes and some barefoot. 
Following these tracks with his eve, he saw that they 
formed a beaten path towards the water-side. 

" Ah, I see what the mischief is," said he, nodding 
liis head. " Those little rascals, the boys, — they have 
stolen our stones to build a wharf with ! " 

The masons immediately went to examine the new 
structure. And to say the truth, it was well worth look- 
ing at, so neatly and with such adiniral)le skill had it 
been planned and finished. The stones were put together 
so securely that there Avas no dang.'^r of their being loos- 
ened by the tide, however swiftly it might sweep ah)ng. 
There was a broad and safe ])latform to stand upon, 
whence the Httle fishermen might cast their lines into 
deep water and draw up fish in abundance. Indeed, it 
almost seemed as if Ben and his comrades might be for- 
given for taking tlie stones, because they had done their 
job in such a workmanlike manner. 

*' The chaps that built this wharf undarstood their busi- 
ness pretty well," said one of the masons. " I should not 
be ashamed of such a piece of work myself." 

But the master mason did not seem to enjoy the joke. 
lie was one of those unreasonable people who care a 
great deal more for their own rights and privileges than 
for the convenience of all the rest of the world. 

" S.im," said he, more gruffly than usual, " go call a 
constable." 

Sj Sam called a constable, and inquiries were set on 
foot to discover the perpetrators of the tiieft. In the 
course of the day warrants were issued, witli the signa- 
ture of a justice of the peace, to take the bodies of Ben- 
jamin Franklin and other evil-disposed persons who had 
stolen a heap of stones. If the owner of the stolen prop- 



BIOGRAPHICAL STOraES. 275 

erty had not been more merciful than tlie master mason, 
it might have gone liard with our friend Benjaniiii aud 
liis fellow-laborers. But, luckily for tliem, the gentleman 
had a respect for Ben's father, aud, moreover, was amused 
with the sph-it of the whole affair. He therefore let the 
culprits off pretty easily. 

But, when the constables were dismissed, the poor boys 
had to go through anothar trial, aud receive senteuce, 
aud suffer execution, loo, from their own fathers. Mauy 
a rod, 1 grieve to say, was worn to the stuuip on tliat 
nulucky night. 

As for Ben, he was less afraid of a whipping than cf 
his father's disapprobation. Mr. Fraukliu, as 1 have mcu- 
tioned before, was a sagacious uian, aud also an iuflexibly 
upright one. He had read much for a person iu his rauk 
of life, and had pondered upon the ways of the w^orld, 
nntil he had gained more wisdom than a whole library of 
books could have taught hiui. Beu had a greater rever- 
euce for his father thau for any other person iu the world, 
as well on account of his spotless integrity as of his prac- 
tical sense aud deep views of thiugs. 

Consequently, after l)eiug released from the clutches of 
the law, Ben came iuto his father's presence with no 
small perturbation of miud. 

" Beujamiu, come hither," began Mr. Fraukliu, in his 
customary solemn aud weighty tone. 

The boy approached aud stood before his father's chair, 
waiting reverently to hear what judguieut this good uiau 
would pass upon his late offence. He felt tliat now the 
right and wrong of the whole matter woflld be made to 
appear. 

" Benjamin ! " said his father, "what could induce you 
to take property which did not belong to you ? " 

" Why, father," replied Ben, hanging his head at first, 



276 BIOGRAPHICAL STOPaES. 

but then llftini^ his eyes to Mr. Franklin's face, "if it 
had been merely for my own benefit, I never should have 
dreamed of it. But I knew that the wharf would be 
a public convenience. If the owner of the stones should 
build a house with them, nobody will enjoy any advan- 
tage except himself. Now, I made use of them in a way 
tliat was for the advantage of many persons. I thought 
it riglit to aim at doing good to the greatest number." 

" My son," said Mr. Franklin, solemnly, " so far as it 
was in your power, you have done a greater harm to the 
public than to the owner of the stones." 

" How can that be, father ? " asked Ben. 

" Because," answered his father, " in building your 
wharf with stolen materials, you have committed a moral 
wrong. There is no more terrible mistake than to vio- 
late what is eternally right for the sake of a seeming ex- 
pediency. Those who act upon such a principle do the 
utmost in their power to destroy all that is good in the 
world." 

" Heaven forbid ! " said Benjamin. 

" No act," continued Mr. Franklin, " can possibly be 
for the benefit of the public generally which involves in- 
justice to any individual. It would be easy to prove this 
by examples. But, indeed, can we suppose that our all- 
wise and just Creator would have so ordered the afl'airs 
of the world that a wrong act should be the true method 
of attaining a right end ? It is impious to think so. 
And I do verily believe, Benjamin, that almost all the 
public and private misery of mankind arises from a 
neglect of this great truth, — that evil can produce 
only evil, — that good ends must be wrought out by 
good means." 

" I will never forget it again," said Benjamin, bowing 
his head. 



BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 277 

"Remember," concluded his fatlier, " that, whenever 
■we vary from the highest rule of right, just so far we do 
an injury to the world. It may seem otherwise for the 
moment ; but, both in time and in eternity, it will be 
found so." 

To the close of his life Ben Pranklin never forgot this 
conversation with his father; and we have reason to sup- 
pose that, in most of his public and private career, lie 
endeavored to act upon the principles which that good 
and wise man had then taught him. 

After the great event of building the wharf, Ben con- 
tinued to cut wick-yarn and fill candle-moulds for about 
two years. But, as he had no love for that occupation, 
his father often took him to see various artisans at their 
work, in order to discover what trade he would prefer. 
Tims Ben learned the use of a great many tools, the 
knowledge of which afterwards proved very useful to 
him. But he seemed much inclined to go to sea. In 
order to keep liim at home, and likewise to gratify his 
taste for letters, the lad was bound apprentice to his 
elder brother, who had lately set up a printing-oiRce in 
Boston. 

Here he had many opportunities of reading new books 
and of hearing instructive conversation. He exercised 
himself so successfully in writing compositions, that, when 
no more than thirteen or fourteen years old, he became a 
contributor to his brother's newspuper. Ben was also a 
versifier, if not a poet. He made two doleful ballads, — 
one about the shipwreck of Captain Worthilake ; and 
the other about the pirate Black Beard, who, not long 
before, infested the American seas. 

When Ben's verses were printed, his brother sent him 
to sell them to the townspeople wet from the press. 
" Buy my ballads ! " shouted Benjamin, as he trudged 



27S BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 

through the streets with a basketful on his arm. 
"Who 'II buy a ballad about Black Beard? A penny 
apiece ! a penny apiece ! Who '11 buy my ballads ? " 

If one of tliose roughly composed and rudely printed 
ballads could be discovered now, it would be worth more 
than its weiglit in gold. 

In this way our friend Benjamin spent his boyhood 
and youth, until, on account of some disagreement with 
liis brother, he left his native town and went to Phila- 
delphia. He landed in the latter city, a homeless and 
hungry young man, and bought threepence worth of 
bread to satisfy his appetite. Not knowing where else 
to go, he entered a Quaker meeting-liouse, sat down, and 
fell fast asleep. He has not told us whether his slum- 
bers were visited by any dreams. But it would have 
been a strange dream, indeed, and an incredible one, that 
should have foretold how great a man he was destined to 
become, and how much he would be honored in that very 
city where he was now friendless and unknown. 

So here we finish our story of tiie childhood of Ben- 
jamin Franklin. One of these days, if you would know 
what lie was in his manhood, you must read his own 
works and the history of American independence. 

" Do let us liear a little, more of him I " said Edward ; 
"not that I admire him so much as many other charac- 
ters ; but he interests me, because he was a Yankee boy." 

"My dear son," replied Mr. Temple, "it would re- 
quire a whole volume of talk to tell you all that is worth 
knowing about Benjamin Franklin. There is a very 
pretty anecdote of his flying a kite in the midst of a 
thunder-storm, and thus drawing down the lightning 
from the clouds and proving that it was the same thing 
as electricity. His whole life would be an interesting 
storv, if we had time to tell it." 



BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 279 

"But, pray, dear fatlier, tell us what made liim so 
famous," said George. " 1 have seeu his portrait a great 
many times. There is a wooden bust of him in one of 
our streets ; and marble ones, I suppose, in some other 
places. And towns, and ships of war, and steamboats, 
and banks, and academies, and children are often named 
after Franklin. Why should he have grown so very 
famous ? " 

" Your question is a reasonable one, George," an- 
swered his father. "1 doubt whether Franklin's philo- 
sophical discoveries, important as they were, or even his 
vast political services, would have given him all the fame 
which he acquired. It appears to me that Poor Richard's 
Almanac did more than anything else towards making 
him familiarly known to the public. As the writer of 
those proverbs which Poor Richard was supposed to 
utter, Franklin became the counsellor and household 
friend of almost every family in America. Thus it was 
the humblest of all his labors that has done the most for 
his fame." 

"I have read some of those proverbs," remarked 
Edward ; " but I do not like them. They are all about 
getting money or saving it." 

" Well," said his father, " they were suited to the 
condition of the country ; and their effect, upon the 
whole, has doubtless been good, although they teach men 
but a very small portion of their duties." 



CHAPTEH IX. 



TTHERTO Mr. Temple's narratives liad all been 
about boys and men. But, the next evening, 
i^i he bethought himself that the quiet little Emily 
would pei'Jiaps be glad to hear the story of a child of her 
own sex. He therefore resolved to narrate the youthful 
adventures of Cliristina, of Sweden, who began to be a 
queen at the age of no more than six years. If we have 
any little girls among our readers, they must not suppose 
that Christina is set before them as a pattern of what 
they ought to be. On tlie contrary, the tale of her life is 
chiefly profitable as showing the evil effects of a wrong 
education, which caused tiiis daughter of a king to be 
both useless and unhappy. Here follows the story. 



QUEEN CHRISTINA. 

[BORN 1626. Died 1639.J 

In the rbyal palace at Stockholm, the capital city of Swe- 
den, there was born, in 102G, a little princess. The king, 
lier father, gave her- the name of Christina, in memory of a 
Swedish gill with whom he liad been in love. His own 
name was Gustavus Adolplms ; and he was also called 
the Lion of the North, because he had gained greater 
fame in war than any other prince or general then alive. 



BIOGUAPHICAL STORIES. 281 

"VYitb tliis valiant king for their commander, the Swedes 
]iad made themselves terrible to the Emperor of Germany 
and to the king of France, and were looked upon as the 
chief defence of the Protestant religion. 

The little Christina was by no means a beautiful child. 
To confess the truth, she was remarkably plain. The 
queen, her mother, did not love her so much as she 
ought ; partly, perhaps, on account of Christina's want 
of beauty, and also because both the king and queen had 
wished for a son, who might have gained as great renown 
in battle as his father had. 

The king, however, soon became exceedingly fond of 
the infant princess. When Christina was very young she 
was taken violently sick. Gustavus Adolphus, who was 
several hundred miles from Stockholm, travelled night 
and day, and never rested until he held the poor child in 
his arms. On her recovery he made a solenni festival, in 
order to show his joy to the people of Sweden and express 
his gratitude to Heaven. After this event he took his 
daughter with him in all the journeys which he made 
throughout his kingdom. 

Christina soon proved herself a bold and sturdy little 
girl. When she was two years old, the king and herself, 
in the course of a journey, came to the strong fortress of 
Colmar. On the battlements were soldiers clad in steel 
armor, which glittered in the sunshine. There were like- 
wise great cannons, pointing their black mouths at Gus- 
tavus and little Christina, and ready to belch out their 
smoke and thunder ; for, whenever a king enters a for- 
tress, it is customary to receive him with a royal salute 
of artillery. 

But the captain of the fortress met Gustavus and his 
daughter as they were about to enter the gateway. 

" May it please your Majesty," said he, taking off his 



28^ BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 

steel cap and bowing profoundly, " I fear that, if we re- 
ceive you with a salute of cannon, the little princess will 
be frightened almost to death." 

Gustaviis looked earnestly at his daughter, and was 
indeed apprehensive that the thunder of so many cannon 
miglit perhaps throw her into convulsions. He had al- 
most a mind to tell the captain to let them enter the for- 
tress quietly, as common people miglit have done, without 
all this head-splitting racket. But no ; this would not do, 

" Let them fire," said he, waving his hand. " Christina 
is a soldier's daughter, and must learn to bear the noise 
of cannon." 

So the captain uttered the word of command, and im- 
mediately there was a terrible peal of thunder from the 
cannon, and such a gusli of smoke that it enveloped the 
whole fortress in its volumes. But, amid all the din and 
confusion, Christina was seen clapping her little hands 
and laughing in an ecstasy of delight. Probably nothing 
ever pleased her father so much as to see that his daugh- 
ter promised to be fearless as himself. He determined 
to educate her exactly as if she had been a boy, and to 
teach her all the knowledge needful to the ruler of a 
kingdom and the commander of an army. 

But Gustavus should have remembered that Providence 
had created her to be a woman, and that it was not for 
him to make a man of her. 

However, the king derived great happiness from his 
beloved Christina. It must have been a pleasant sight 
to see the powerful monarch of Sweden playing in some 
magnificent hall of the palace with his merry little girl. 
Then he forgot that the weight of a kingdom rested upon 
his shoulders. He forgot that the wise Chancellor Ox.- 
eustiern was waiting to consult with him how to render 
Sweden th3 greatest nation of Europe. He forgot that 



BIOGEAPHICAL STOHIES. 283 

the Emperor of Germany and the King of France were 
plotting together how they miglit pull him down from his 
throne. 

Yes ; Gustavus forgot all the perils, and cares, and 
pompous irksomeness of a royal life ; and was as happy, 
while playing with his child, as the humblest peasant in 
the realm of Sweden. How gayly did they dance along 
the marble floor of the palace, this valiant king, with his 
upright, martial figure, his war-worn visage, and com- 
manding aspect, and the small, round form of Christina, 
with her rosy face of childish merriment ! Her little fin- 
gers were clasped in her father's hand, which had held 
the leading staff in many famous victories. His crown 
and sceptre were her playthings. She could disarm Gus- 
tavus of his sword, which was so terrible to the princes 
of Europe. 

But, alas ! the king was not long permitted to enjoy 
Christina's society. When she was four years old Gus- 
tavus was summoned to take command of the allied armies 
of Germany, which were fighting against the emperor. 
His greatest affliction was the necessity of parting with 
his child ; but people in such high stations have but little 
opportunity for domestic happiness. He called an assem- 
bly of the senators of Sweden and confided Christina to 
their care, saying, that each one of them must be a father 
to her if he himself should fall in battle. 

At the moment of his departure Christina ran towards 
him and began to address him with a speech which some- 
body had taught her for the occasion. Gustavus was 
busied with thoughts about the affairs of the kingdom, 
so that he did not immediately attend to the childish 
voice of his little girl. Christina, who did not love to be 
unnoticed, immediately stopped short and pulled him by 
the eoat. 



284 BIOGr.APHICAL STOHTES. 

"Father," said slie, "why do not you listen to my 
speech ? " 

In a moment the king forgot everytliing except that 
he was parting with what he loved best in all the world. 
He caught the child in his arms, pressed her to his 
bosom, and burst hito tears. Yes; though he was a brave 
man, and though he wore a steel corselet on his breast, 
and though armies were waiting for him to lead them to 
battle, still his heart melted within him, and he wept. 
Christina, too, was so afflicted that her attendants began 
to fear that she would actually die of grief. But prob- 
ably she was soon comforted ; for children seldom re- 
member their parents quite so faithfully as their parents 
remember them. 

For two years more Christina remained in the palace 
at Stockholm. The queen, her mother, had accompanied 
Gustavus to the wars. The child, therefore, was left to 
the guardianship of five of the wisest men in the king- 
dom. But these wise men knew better how to manage 
the affairs. of state than how to govern and educate a 
httle girl so as to render her a good and happy woman. 

When two years had passed away, tidings were brought 
to Stockholm which filled everybody with triumph and 
sorrow at the same time. The Swedes had won a glo- 
rious victory at Lutzcn. But, alas ! the warlike King of 
Sweden, the Lion of the North, the father of our little 
Christina, had been slain at the foot of a great stone, 
which still marks the spot of that hero's death. 

Soon after this sad event, a general assembly, or con- 
gress, consisting of deputations from the nobles, the 
clergy, the burghers, and the peasants of Sweden, was 
suuimoned to meet at Stockholm. It was for the pur- 
pose of declaring little Christina to be Queen of Sweden 
and giving her the crown and sceptre of her deceased 



.BIOCrvAPIIICAL STOHIES. 2S5 

father. Silence being proelaimed, the Chancellor Oxen- 
stiern arose. 

"We desh'C to know," said he, "whether the people 
of Sweden will take the daughter of our dead king-, 
Gustavus Adolphus, to be their queen." 

When the chancellor had spoken, an old man, with 
white hair and in coarse apparel, stood up in the midst of 
the assembly. He was a peasant, Lars Larrson by name, 
and had spent most of his life in laboring on a farm. 

" Who is this daughter of Gustavus ? " asked the old 
man. " We do not know her. Let her be shown to us." 

Then Christina was brought into the hall and placed 
before the old peasant. It was strange, no doubt, to see 
a child — a little girl of six years old — offered to the 
Swedes as their ruler instead of the brave king, her fa- 
ther, who had led them to victory so many times. Could 
her baby fingers wield a sword in war ? Could her 
childish mind govern the nation wisely in peace ? 

But the Swedes do not appear to have asked them- 
selves these questions. Old Lars Larrson took Chris- 
tina up in his arms and gazed earnestly into her face. 
' He had known the great Gustavus well; and his heart 
was touched when he saw the likeness which the little 
girl bore to that heroic monarch, 

" Yes," cried he, with the tears gushing down his 
furrowed cheeks ; "this is truly the daughter of our Gus- 
tavus ! Here is her father's brow! — here is his pier- 
cing eye ! She is his very picture ! This child shall be 
our queen ! " 

Then all the proud nobles of Sweden, and the rever- 
end clergy, and the burghers, and the peasants, knelt 
down at the child's feet and kissed her hand. 

"Long live Christina, Queen of Sweden!" shouted 
they. 



286 BIOGUAPHICAL STORIES. 

Even after she was a woman grown Christina remem- 
bered the pleasure wiiich she felt in seeing all tiiese men 
at her feet and hearing them acknowledge her as iheir su- 
preme ruler. Poor child ! she was yet to learn that power 
does not insure happiness. As yet, however, she had not 
any real power. All the public business, it is true, was 
transacted in her name ; but the kingdom was governed 
by a number of the most experienced statesmen, who 
were called a regency. 

But it was considered necessary that the little queen 
should be present at the public ceremonies, and should 
behave just as if she were in reality the ruler of the na- 
tion. When she was seven years of age, some ambassa- 
dors from the Czar of Muscovy came to the Swedish 
court. They wore long beards, and were clad in a 
strange fashion, with furs and other outlandish orna- 
ments; and as they were inhabitants of a half-civilizsd 
country, they did not behave like other people. The 
Chancellor Oxenstiern was afraid that the young queen 
would burst out a laughing at the first sight of these 
queer ambassadors, or else that she would be frightened 
by their unusual aspect. 

" Why should I be frightened ? " said the little 
queen. "And do you suppose that I have no better 
manners than to laugh ? Only tell me how I must be- 
have, and I will do it." 

Accordingly, the Muscovite ambassadors were intro- 
duced ; and Christina received them and answered their 
speeches with as much dignity and propriety as if she 
had been a grown woman. 

All this time, though Christina was now a queen, you 
must not suppose that she was left to act as she pleased. 
She had a preceptor, named John Mathias, who was a 
very learned man and capable of instructing her in all 



BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 287 

the branches of science. But there was nobody to tec^.ch 
her the delicate graces and gentle virtues of a woman. 
Sbe was surrounded almost entirely by men, and had 
learned to despise the society of her own sex. At the 
age of nine years she was separated from her mother, 
whom the Swedes did not consider a proper person to 
be intrusted with the charge of her. No little girl who 
sits by a New England lireside has cause to envy Chris- 
tina in the royal palace at Stockholm. 

Yet she made great progress in her studies. She 
learned to* read the classical authors of Greece andKome, 
and became a great admirer of the heroes and poets of old 
times. Then, as for active exercises, she could ride on 
horseback as well as any man in her kingdom. She was 
fond of hunting, and could shoot at a mark with wonder- 
ful skill. But dancing was the only feminine accomphsh- 
ment with which she had any acquaintance. 

She was so restless in her disposition that none of her 
attendants were sure of a moment's quiet neither day nor 
night. She grew up, I am sorry to say, a very unamiable 
person, ill-tempered, proud, stubborn, and, in short, unfit 
to make those around her happy or to be happy herself. 
Let every little girl, who has been taught self-control and 
a due regard for the rights of others, thank Heaven that 
she has had better instruction than this poor little Queen 
of Sweden, 

At the age of eighteen Christina was declared free to 
govern the kingdom by herself without the aid of a re- 
gency. At this period of her life she was a young woman 
of striking aspect, a good figure, and intelligent face, but 
very strangely dressed. She wore a short habit of gray 
cloth, with a man's vest over it, and a black scarf around 
her neck ; but no jewels nor ornaments of any kind. 

Yet, though Christina was so negligent of her appear- 



28S BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 

aiioe, there was sometliing in licr air and manner that 
proclaimed her as tlie ruler of a kingdom. Her eyes, it 
is said, iiad a very fierce and haughty look. Old General 
Wrangel, who had often caused the enemies of Sweden to 
tremble in battle, actually trembled himself when he en- 
countered the eyes of the queen. But it would have 
been better for Christina if she could have made people 
love her, by means of soft and gentle looks, instead of 
affrighting them by such terrible glances. 

And now I have told you almost all that is amusing or 
instructive in the childhood of Christina. O^ily a i'ew 
more words need be said about her ; for it is neither 
pleasant nor profitable to think of many things that she 
did after she grew to be a woman. 

When she had worn the crown a few years, she began 
to consider it beneath her dignity to be called a queen, 
because the name implied that she belonged to the 
weaker sex. She therefore caused herself to be pro- 
claimed KING ; thus declaring to the world that she de- 
spised her own sex and was desirous of being ranked 
among men. But in the twenty-eighth year of her age 
Christina grew tired of royalty, and resolved to be neither 
a king nor a queen any longer. She took the crown 
from her head with her own bauds, and ceased to be the 
ruler of Sweden. The people did not greatly regret her 
abdication ; for she had governed them ill, and had taken 
much of their property to supply her extravagance. 

Having thus given up her hereditary crown, Christina 
left Sweden and travelled over many of the countries of 
Europe. Everywhere she was received with great cere- 
mony, because she was the daughter of the renowned 
Gustavus, and had herself been a powerful queen. Per- 
haps you would like to know something about her per- 
sonal appearance in the latter part of her life. She is 



BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. 289 

described as wearing a man's vest, a sliort gray petticoat, 
embroidered \yitli gold and silver, and a black wig, wliicU 
was thrust awry upon lier head. She wore no gloves, 
and so seldom washed her hands that nobody could tell 
what had been their original color. In this strange dress, 
and, I suppose, without washing her hands or face, she 
visited the magnificent court of Louis XIV. 

She died in 16S9. None loved her while she lived, 
nor regretted her death, nor planted a single flower upon 
her grave, Happy are the little girls of America, who 
are brought up quietly and tenderly at the domestic 
hearth, and thus become gentle and delicate women ! 
May none of them ever lose the loveliness of their sex by 
receiving such an education as that of Queen Cliristina ! 

Emily, timid, quiet, and sensitive, was the very reverse 
of little Christina. She seemed shocked at the idea of 
such a bold and masculine character as has been described 
in the foregoing story. 

"I never could have loved her," whispered she to 
Mrs. Temple ; and then she added, with that love of 
personal neatness which generally accompanies purity of 
heart, "It troubles me to think of her unclean hands! " 

" Christina was a sad specimen of womankind indeed," 
said Mrs. Temple. " But it is very possible for a woman 
to have a strong mind, and to be fitted for the active 
business of life, without losing any of her natural del- 
icacy. Perhaps some time or other Mr. Temple will tell 
you a story of such a woman." 

It was now time for Edward to be left to repose. His 
brother George shook him heartily by the hand, and 
hoped, as he had hoped twenty times before, that to-mor- 
row or the next day Ned's eyes would be strong enough 
to look the sun right in the face. 

13 s 



290 BIOGRAPHICAL STORIES. C ^^ 0^ (^ 

" Thank you, Gaorge," replied Edward, smiling ; " but ' 
I am not half so impatient as at first. If mj bodily eye- 
sight were as good as yours, perhaps I could not see 
tlmigs so distinctly with my mind's eye. But now there 
is a light within which shows me the little Quaker artist, 
Bjn West, and Isaac Newton with his windaiill, and 
stubborn Sam Johnson, and stout Noll Cromwell, and 
shrewd Ben Franklin, and little Queen Cliristina, with 
the Swedes kneeling at her feet. It seems as if I really 
saw these personages face to face. So I can bear the 
darkness outside of me pretty w^ell." 

When Edward ceased speaking, Emily put up her 
mouth and kissed him as her farewell for the night. 

" Ah, I forgot ! " said Edward, with a sigh. " I can- 
not see any of your faces. What would it signify to see 
all the famous people in the world, if I must be blind to 
the faces that I love ? " 

" You must try to see us with your heart, my dear 
child," said his mother. 

Edward went to bed somewhat dispirited; but, quickly 
falling asleep, was visited with such a pleasant dreanj of 
the sunshme and of his dearest friends that he felt the 
happier for it all the next day. Aud we hope to find him 
still happy when we meet again. 




Cambridge : ElcctrotypeJ aiid Printed by Welch, Bigelow, & Co. 



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